


Stray Not From Me

by furiedheart



Category: Chris Hemsworth - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Rape, Blowjobs, Chris does not ask Tom's permission every time they have sex, Chris has a plan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fingering, High School AU, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Molestation, Stalking, There will be smut later on, They will both turn 18 soon, Unconscious Sex, also author doesn't know anything about summer school sessions, and meanings exchanged through looks, and some masturbation, fingering without lube, for now it's a lot of fluff, inappropriate teacher, lots of looking, mention of rape, non-con between Tom and teacher, the boys look at each other a lot, very real emotions, warnings posted at beginning of chapter when necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 45
Words: 249,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/pseuds/furiedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom has been getting unwanted attention from a summer school teacher. Chris finds out and decides to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Incubigirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incubigirl/gifts).



> Thank you Viviana, for all of your help and encouragement. This one is for you.
> 
> This comes from a prompt on Tumblr  
> http://velociraptor-hands.tumblr.com/post/51647655080/thisdorkyblogthing-asked-you-pls-churn-out-20
> 
> Prompt:  
> Summer school is the worst. If only Tom had been able to stop daydreaming in Statistics, he would be free to take that internship at the Shakespeare festival. It’s just his luck that not only does his class consist of four people, one of whom is Tom’s crush, Chris, but the teacher is Ken. Creepy Ken who likes to keep Tom after class and rub his shoulders. Tom is both relieved and embarrassed when Chris doubles back to the room for his pen. Chris picks up on Tom’s silent plea and drags him out of there, then offers to play his boyfriend in class to keep Ken off his back. Eventually play-acting turns into reality.
> 
> I only changed some minor details.  
> I also don't have a clue how long summer classes should last. I apologize in advance. For everything.
> 
> UPDATE UPDATE!! This story now has [fan art](http://treemuse.tumblr.com/post/103642462223/mi-delirio-es-el-treemuse-my-hiddlesworth). [Treemuse](http://treemuse.tumblr.com/) is beyond fantastic and it's perfect. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart *sobs*

Tom glanced at the clock. Class let out in another ten minutes. He had no one to blame but himself, he thought, as he hunched over his paper, trying in vain to solve the math problem before they were released. Earlier in the semester, he’d become so absorbed in his drama club that he hadn’t realize how far he’d slipped in his Statistics class. Before he knew it, his grade was below average and he needed to take summer school to even out his GPA. Even worse, taking this class meant he would not be able to attend the Shakespeare Summer Parks Festival, where he’d hoped to intern with one of the drama instructors. His disappointment could still make frustrated tears sting his eyes in moments of solitude. 

His teacher, Mr. Shaw, was a guy in his mid-thirties who had dirty blond hair cropped near his ears and always made it a rule that the last person to turn in their sheets would stay after class and wipe the black board. So far Tom had to stay twice, the second time as uncomfortable as the first. From the beginning, Tom had the unnerving feeling that Mr. Shaw liked for him to stay after class, sliding up to his desk after the other students had gone, sometimes reaching over to touch Tom on the shoulder, making it a point for Tom to call him by his first name, Ken. 

And then there was that other thing. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of the memory, he hoped he wouldn’t have to stay again today. He bent low over his work and tried to concentrate. After erasing a wrong number for the fifth time, he bit his lip in frustration, swiping away at the rubber shavings. He peeked up at the other students in the class and tried to gauge how far along they were in their assignments. Rory, somewhat of a recluse, sat low in his seat in the far corner, fiddling with his pencil, his worksheet placed in the corner. Tom had the impression that he was already done. How did he solve the problem so fast? Sitting in the middle of the class was Ava, a shy-looking girl who scribbled for a bit on her paper, held it up to check it over and then sat back, completed. He couldn’t tell anything by looking at the other two students. Tom saw that there were about three minutes left and he bent over his work again, but not before sneaking a look at Chris Hemsworth, who sat two seats in front of him. Chris was quite stunning, when Tom thought about it. And he thought about Chris a lot. Ever since Chris had moved to their district a year ago, Tom had often gazed at Chris from a distance. Chris was on the basketball team and from what Tom understood, his grades had suffered with his attention split between academics and sports. As an athlete, Chris had friends in circles Tom was not a part of. Chris, with his easy smile and laid-back charm, could be friends with anyone, a trait Tom envied, Tom who was painfully shy and preferred the startling freedom of the stage to face to face encounters with people who would actually know him as a person. Tom watched Chris as he reclined in his chair, his golden hair flipped casually. 

“Alright, pass up your assignments.”

Tom snapped his head up, horrified that class was over and he still hadn’t finished the problem. He quickly scribbled an answer near the bottom and hoped Mr. Shaw wouldn’t notice that his equation was incomplete. He passed his paper up to Chris, who stretched back and took it from him, an open smile on his face. Tom blushed and quickly began gathering his things, sticking them in his black backpack. Two of the five students had left already, leaving Tom, Chris and Ava. Chris was already at the door, Ava close behind. Mr. Shaw was at his desk, flicking through the papers in his hand. Tom zipped his bag and stalked to the door, nearly there, almost—

“Tom?” 

He froze, acutely aware that his classmates were gone. He turned around and faced Mr. Shaw.

“Your assignment, Tom. It’s unfinished. And the answer is nowhere near correct.” He stood from his desk and gestured to the seat in the front of the class. “Come sit and we can talk it over.”

The last thing Tom wanted to do was sit. He pointed to the white board. “I should clean the board first, right?” He set his backpack down by the door and walked to the front of the class, grabbing the spray and towel. He flinched when he felt Mr. Shaw follow him, coming to stand directly by his side.

“That’s not important.” Shaw’s grey eyes flitted over Tom’s face, lingering on Tom’s blond curls. He smiled quickly, reaching up a hand to lay on the curve of Tom’s shoulder, squeezing and kneading at the muscle there. Tom’s mind was in a frenzy, begging not to be touched, not again, please not like last time. “What’s important is that you understand what you’re working on.” He paused. “I also wanted to talk to you about what happened the other day. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I really--.”

They both tensed when they heard whistling just outside in the hall. Mr. Shaw quickly dropped his hand and stepped back a bit. Tom felt the warm imprint of Mr. Shaw’s hand on the material of his T-shirt and swallowed down his disgust.

“Sorry, I forgot my practice bag.”

Tom couldn’t see who had entered, but he knew that voice. He turned his head and saw that Chris had come back in, heading to his desk where his gym bag lay unnoticed. He grabbed it and looked up at Tom, who couldn’t turn his gaze away, his eyes locked onto Chris, pleading inside to please don’t go. 

Something in Tom’s face must have alarmed Chris, because he hesitated a moment as he hitched his bag onto his shoulder. He flicked his blue eyes to Mr. Shaw, who had walked back to his desk, sight locked onto the sheet in front of him, and then back to Tom, who quickly stared down at the floor, face blooming with color. Chris smiled and started walking back to the door.

“You ready, Tom?”

When Tom hesitated, whispering a weak, “Um,” Chris sighed loudly and turned back to him. “Did you forget? You called me last night asking for a ride because your mom had a dental appointment? You’re lucky I forgot my bag or I would have left without you. Now, let’s go. I have to meet some of the guys at the park.” Tom quickly dismissed his confusion, dismissed that he always walked home and his mother would never need him to get a ride from school. All he knew was that Chris was offering him a way out and he took it. Chris stood waiting as Tom returned the spray and towel to their place on the metal tray lining the bottom of the board. Mr. Shaw was silent during this entire exchange, seemingly absorbed in the students’ assignments. He looked up when Tom started heading in Chris’s direction.

“Tom, we’ll talk about your assignment on Monday. I expect better effort in your homework.” 

Tom nodded mutely and snatched up his backpack, slipping out the door ahead of Chris. He heard Chris say he wished Mr. Shaw a great weekend and then his footsteps caught up to him.

“Hey.”

Tom ducked his head and kept walking, the halls silent and eerie without the usual chaos of student crowds. 

“Hey, wait.” He felt Chris’s fingers at his elbow and stopped walking. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, blurting it out as he turned to Chris without looking at him. “But you didn’t have to do that.” He was furious at the tears he felt gathering in his eyes. He stared glumly down at Chris’s sneakers, worn but clean. 

Chris dropped his hand and sighed quietly. “Yes, I did. Your eyes were wider than saucers. You were terrified.”

Tom shook his head stubbornly, looking down the hall and saying, “I was not terrified.”

Chris didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Are you okay now?”

Tom nodded and fiddled with the strap of his bag.

“Look at me.”

Tom breathed out slowly and then raised his eyes, expected to see pity in Chris’s face, preparing himself to deny it. But there was anger in Chris’s brow, his lips pressed together, as if he was stopping himself from saying something he shouldn’t. 

“What has he done?” They were whispering just in front of the doors that lead out into the front of the school, aware perhaps, that the person they were talking about was just down the hall.

Surprised at the question, Tom pushed through the double doors and out into the glaring sun. He didn’t want to talk about this. It was embarrassing enough as it was, without Chris being aware of it. He usually brushed it off and forgot about it as soon as it happened. He would dread class later on. 

He was a couple of steps down when Chris took hold of his elbow, gently, just enough to spin Tom around to face him. 

“Answer me. Has he done anything to you?” 

Tom blinked and shrank away slightly. He was a step below Chris and the difference in their heights was startling. Chris was already very tall for a senior, maybe three or four inches over six feet. Tom was thinner, but probably only about two inches shorter than Chris. He wasn’t necessarily weaker. He had his own lean muscles from working on the stage and behind the scenes, hauling props and adjusting light fixtures, moving himself and his co-actors around physical scenes. Either way, he felt the stark dissimilarities between himself and Chris almost immediately, his body warm from being so close to him, holding back a gasp at the feel of Chris’s hand on his arm. Chris was looking down at him with those blue eyes, narrowed at the moment, homed in to Tom’s face, waiting for his answer. 

Tom shook his head, slightly defeated, giving in to Chris. He didn’t mind Chris crowding him, didn’t mind that Chris practically loomed over him. Having Chris this close felt exciting and made Tom feel safe. Not like when Mr. Shaw was close to him, just those few times, enough to make Tom never want to be that close to him again.

“No, he hasn’t done anything,” he whispered, the lie feeling like a dead weight on his tongue. He squinted up at Chris, the sun bright in his eyes.

Chris frowned, not buying it. “But?”

Tom fidgeted, his elbow still firmly in Chris’s hand. “But he does things that make me uncomfortable, okay?” He tugged his arm free and continued down the stairs, Chris close behind. 

“Like what?” 

Tom shrugged, not wanting to reveal the worst of it. “I don’t know. Like when I have to stay after class, he stands really close and touches me on my shoulder and arm.” He took a deep breath, surprised at the relief he felt at having finally said it, at least part of it. “He stares at me funny.”

“What are you going to do?”

Chris’s words stopped him and he spun back.

“Do? I’m not going to do anything. I have to pass this wretched class to get my average back up.” He hiked up his backpack and started down the front lawn, heading toward his house. It was about a fifteen minute walk, but he didn’t mind. “Besides, it’s my fault for being a prat and not paying attention to my grade before,” he called back to Chris. 

“You’re walking? Let me give you a lift!” Tom stopped and cast a confused look at Chris over his shoulder. 

“A lift? Don’t you have to meet your teammates?”

Chris grinned. “Does your mom have a dental appointment?”

For the first time that day, Tom felt his lips loosen into a smile. “Guess not.”

Chris stood there, smiling at him. Tom blinked, suddenly self-conscious. Then Chris motioned over with his arm.

“Come on. My car’s this way.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tom fell into step with Chris, not believing this day was actually happening. After spending a miserable three hours in that class with Mr. Shaw, he never anticipated that Chris would come back in and essentially rescue him, ask about the whole thing, learn about Tom’s unease, and then offer him a ride home. He shook his head at the entire situation.

“What?” Chris asked, eyeing him from the side.

Tom blushed again and turned away, not wanting Chris to see. He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

They climbed into Chris’s car, Tom amazed that he had one at all. They were both seniors and even though Tom had had his license for almost a year and a half now, he pretty much walked everywhere, took the bus, or borrowed his mom’s car when she wasn’t using it. Not having a car never really bothered him. 

Chris pulled out of the parking lot and followed Tom’s quiet directions to his house. The drive was mostly silent, Chris staring placidly out the front windshield. A song was playing on the radio, but it was too low for Tom to make out. He felt slightly awkward, still elated at being so close to Chris for such an extended period of time, aware of their proximity in the car and the lack of conversation. He was horrible at starting conversations. So he resigned himself to staring out his window.

Usually stealing glances at Chris when in the hallways at school, Tom noted that Chris was always with other basketball players or girls who trailed after the group sometimes. Tom never liked the feeling it gave him, the tightness in his chest at seeing those girls with Chris, easily sliding close for a quick hug before class, waving over their shoulders at him, white smiles and long hair. 

The theater was just across the hall from the main basketball gymnasium and when Tom was on break, he would press up against the double doors to the gym and peek in through the small rectangular windows, watching as the men’s basketball team practiced their drills, running up and down the court, passing the ball so quickly and precisely, Chris making move after move, shot after shot, the sweat on his shoulders shiny in the glare from the overhead lights. Tom would eventually get too nervous at being caught looking and he would slip back into the darkened theater where his red face would not be seen, his palms cold where he held them against his thighs. 

Tom blinked, rousing himself from his thoughts as Chris pulled up to his house. 

He collected his bag and opened his door, the incessant pinging starting up, loud in the interior of the car. 

“Um, thanks for the ride. Chris.” He added his name, liking how it sounded out loud. 

Chris smiled widely, his left wrist resting on the column of the steering while. “You’re welcome, Tom.” Tom climbed out of the car and walked to his front door. He pulled out a key, seeing that his parents weren’t home yet, and let himself in. He glanced back at the street and was surprised that Chris was still at the curb. Chris raised his hand and waved once, pulling away. Tom’s hand raised slowly, his mouth slightly open, only now realizing that Chris had used his name twice. 

He stepped inside and sank onto one of the sofas in the living room. He didn’t know how to feel about this. He was beyond happy that he was able to spend some time with Chris, even if it had stemmed from a rather unpleasant experience that he really wished Chris didn’t know about. Oh well. Too late for that. But he couldn’t deny the sense of relief that at least another person knew. He hoped that things with Mr. Shaw didn’t escalate into something exceedingly beyond Tom’s control. There was already that one incident that had marked the moment Mr. Shaw had stepped beyond the line of what could be misinterpreted as inappropriate and what was blatantly inappropriate. Tom didn’t know why he didn’t tell Chris about all of it, but he knew at the time, that he just couldn’t. It seemed a deplorable attempt on Mr. Shaw’s part to start something with Tom that he just wasn’t comfortable with. He took a deep, steadying breath, remembering that there were only six more weeks of summer school. 

He trudged up the stairs and walked into his room, avoiding clothes strewn on the floor, sheets from plays stacked on his desk. Piles of books towered here and there. He blew on the top of one to get rid of the dust. He looked around and saw the state of his room. He supposed he might as well clean it. It was the weekend and he could do his homework sometime in the next two days. 

***

Chris drove home slowly, the radio playing some random song he couldn’t place, nor had any desire to. He had just dropped Tom off at his house and the image of him in the doorway stayed in his mind as he navigated the streets of their neighborhood. He pulled into his parents’ driveway and killed the engine. Scooping up his bags, he raced up the stairs and to his room, plopping down on the bed. 

Chris wasn’t sure what to think about what happened that afternoon. Ever since Tom walked into class that first day of summer, Chris had been on edge. He recognized him from the plays he had to see for extra credit. The young man on stage was vastly different from the one Chris sometimes saw in the hallways, head down, quiet. Chris noted that he ate alone, nose in a book or else didn’t appear in the cafeteria at all and Chris wondered where he went. 

Having to take summer school was just the cherry on top of a relatively bad semester for Chris. He tore a muscle in his right leg just before the season ended in March, and while it was a very minor injury, it prevented him from playing the final few games of the year. Even now, his muscle was still on the mend, but with careful stretching, he had begun running again. Doing poorly in Statistics, well, he just wasn’t that great at Math and had no excuse for it. 

Chris had started to believe that Tom paid attention to no one, that with his head down or his face in a book, Tom allowed the world to unfold around him unnoticed. Chris was even beginning to feel comfortable watching Tom from a distance, confident that Tom would not realize the attention he was receiving. Although, there was that time that Chris had been heading to class, his friends laughing and goofing off around him. Some of the girls from the dance club had come over to congratulate them on a good game, giving them hugs and waving goodbye. Chris complied and was waving back when he turned up the hall and caught Tom just as he was turning away, blushing face and closed eyes. Had Tom been upset at seeing him with those girls? Chris didn’t know but he counted it as a positive sign. 

Chris’s surprise at seeing Tom appear on stage that first play he attended was quickly intensified when Tom’s usually quiet and shy persona dissolved into a person with wide shoulders thrown back, a voice that rang deep and projected over the audience. Chris sat in shock. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Tom the entire play, oblivious to what was happening or how it ended. He’d needed to look the play up on the Internet so he could write his report. 

After that event, Chris thought of Tom more and more often. He never saw him with anyone and he started to believe Tom had no friends. If he had no friends, the possibilities of Tom being in a relationship with someone were slim. The idea made Chris feel warm and pleasant, energizing him until he was outperforming his teammates in practice and starting every game. Now, nearly a year later, Chris was amazed when he and Tom ended up having the same summer school class together.  
Chris lay back and stared up at the ceiling of his room. He remembered precisely the moment when he noticed Shaw’s focus on Tom was more than a teacher’s should be. 

It was two weeks ago. Tom had been working furiously on one of Shaw’s in-class assignments. Chris could hear him muttering to himself in the seat behind him. Shaw, walking around the room, allowed the other students to slowly trickle out as they handed in their work. Chris was nearly done. He quickly calculated the final equation and then reached to his left for his backpack on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mr. Shaw leaning low by Tom’s desk. He was about to turn to check, as most curious things usually make people do, when Mr. Shaw straightened and walked to the front of the class. Chris peeked behind him and saw Tom staring out the window, completely still, face pale and slightly disgusted. Since that day, he’d kept a close eye on Shaw, watching as he eyed Tom the most, looking at him past the other students, deliberately keeping Tom after class. When it happened again, when Chris saw Tom’s slightly panicked expression as his classmates filed out the door, Chris promised himself he would do something the next time it happened. 

So today he left his bag behind on purpose, anticipating Shaw keeping Tom after. He’d guessed right, hearing Shaw call Tom’s name as Chris made his way down the hallway. He waited a few minutes and then walked back. He’d found them by the black board, Tom frozen and Shaw, who seemed to just have moved away from Tom, making his way to his desk. Chris had played it off as casually as he could, but the look on Tom’s face cut through to his heart. He was clearly uncomfortable and looking at Chris with the widest blue eyes. Chris had to rein in his anger, putting on a fake smile. He’d gripped at his bag’s straps until his knuckles turned white but he’d kept calm and pretended he was giving Tom a ride home. 

Tom’s quiet confession outside on the steps, the sunlight throwing flames in those wild curls, of how Shaw made him uncomfortable further strengthened Chris’s resolve to figure out a way to make this stop. It wasn’t right to begin with. Shaw was a teacher and an adult much older than Tom who knew better than to prey on a student. But the fact that it was Tom was what made Chris the angriest. He didn’t blame Shaw, though, even if he was a slime ball. 

Tom was beautiful. 

Chris closed his eyes, that warm feeling beginning to pool low in his abdomen. Tom with his shy smile, his brow scrunched in concentration, biting his lip, walking out onto the stage tall and nearly shouting, his smile bright. It was too much. Chris breathed deeply until he calmed a bit, but the feeling was still there. He wanted more of Tom, needed more of him. All this time watching from a distance was not enough, especially not after having spoken with him personally, shared a small space with him, Tom’s long body folded in the seat beside him. Chris keeping his thoughts in check and his hand solely on the gearshift between the seats, however much he wished to reach over and touch Tom’s knee. Waving at him from the curb, Tom’s hesitant wave returned to him, the corners of his mouth turning up in a long-deserved smile. Chris sat up. What he was thinking…would Tom agree? He didn’t know. But he knew one thing. He needed to see him again. In the morning, he planned on making a visit.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning found Tom at his desk, scribbling some new equation, similar to the one he struggled with at the end of class the previous day. He read through the examples, confident that he missed a step during class and that’s why the equation was coming out wrong. 

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. He chided himself for not paying more attention. If he’d only not missed that step, he was confident he could have finished on time and avoided staying after class. But as much as he disliked being around Mr. Shaw, that whole thing was the cause for him spending time with Chris, if only for a little while. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Chris. Imagine Tom’s surprise when he walked into the class two weeks ago and saw Chris in one of the seats. Tom couldn’t believe it. His excitement was quickly tempered when he caught on to Mr. Shaw’s constant stares and secret flirtations. That had to be what it was. Right? He sighed. He may have believed that up until the moment Mr. Shaw had slowly rubbed his shoulders and let his fingers brush the side of Tom’s neck. Shock had him frozen as he witnessed with growing horror Mr. Shaw leaning in, eyes open but hooded, almost as if to kiss him. Tom had scrambled back, his legs colliding with a desk behind him. He’d never run so fast in his life. The following day, Mr. Shaw had appeared as if nothing had happened, but over the following week, his friendly gestures and shoulder rubbing had evolved into more than what was proper.

He stood up and stretched, his back popping. He ambled down the stairs and started rummaging through the refrigerator, having skipped breakfast to get a head start on his homework. 

The house was empty. His parents had gone to visit his aunt and cousins for the weekend. Tom asked not to go, as he felt he needed to buckle down and get through some of the practice problems in the next chapter, hoping to get ahead and be prepared for in-class assignments.

He brought out what he needed to make a sandwich. He poured some orange juice and grabbed a bag of chips. He ate alone in the dining room, staring out the bay window into the backyard. The flowers had long since bloomed and the yard was a burst of different colors and shady trees. His mother loved to garden, her one habit that she’d stuck with over the years. Their backyard was a testament to her dedication and Tom often liked to sit out under the trees to read when it wasn’t too hot out. He was scooping up some crumbs when he heard knocking at the front door. 

He spun in his chair, wondering whom in the world that could be. He placed his dishes in the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He checked through the peephole and nearly cried out in shock, stopping himself with a hand to his mouth. Standing on the other side of the door was Chris. In the background was his car, distorted by the fishbowl effect. Tom clutched a hand to his chest, trying to calm his breathing. What was Chris doing here? He looked around, ensuring the house wasn’t a mess, ran a hand through his curls, and grasped the doorknob just as he heard Chris begin knocking again. 

“Oh, sorry,” Chris said, amiable smile on his face. He lowered his arm, knuckles curled to knock. 

“Hey,” Tom croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you, um. What’s up?”

Chris’s smile grew. “Listen, I thought we could go over some of the problems Mr. Shaw assigned us. You’re not busy are you?”  
Tom’s smile faltered a little at the mention of Mr. Shaw, but then Chris’s question zapped into his brain, comprehension blooming in his features.

“You mean, t-today? Right now?” 

Chris looked down and laughed, easy and low, gorgeous. Tom’s breath caught a bit. “I mean, I know I should have asked you. But I live close by here and I just thought, I mean. Maybe if it’s not a good time, I understand. I should have asked.” Chris scuffed his shoe against the doorjamb, clearly rambling and a bit embarrassed. 

Tom couldn’t believe how rude he was being. He snapped to attention, moving to the side. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Please come in.” Chris stepped inside, politely looking around. Tom closed the door behind him, trying to rub his sweaty palms against the material of his jeans.

“Um, would you like a glass of water or something?”

“Sure.” He led Chris into the kitchen. He poured him some ice water from the refrigerator and handed it to him, aware of where Chris’s fingers were placed to avoid brushing them. 

“Thanks.” He sipped at the water and Tom caught himself staring at the movement of his throat. He looked away quickly and thought of something to fill the silence.

“I was up early this morning going over some problems, too. I came down only a little while ago to eat. My stuff is up in my room.” He fell silent again. He honestly didn’t know how to be in that instant. Chris was standing across the counter, sipping his water, that genial smile never leaving his face. Tom rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Listen, Chris, about yesterday. I—“

“You don’t have to say anything, Tom. It’s not something that you should have to explain away.” He set his water down on the counter and hitched his backpack higher up on his shoulder. He smiled shyly and caught Tom’s eye. “In fact, I was thinking that maybe—.”

The phone started ringing. They both turned toward the sound. “Sorry about that, hang on a sec.” Tom walked to the corner of the kitchen and picked up the wireless phone. It was his mother, calling from her sister’s house. He threw Chris an apologetic smile and quietly left the kitchen. 

“Hi, mom. Yes, everything is fine. I ate a little while ago. I don’t know, probably not. I have a bit of homework and I’m trying to work my way through the next chapter. Oh, that’s great. Yeah. Tell everyone I say hi and that I miss them. Yes, alright. I’ll be here. Love you, too. Bye.”

Tom practically ran back into the kitchen, skidding to a stop in the entryway. Chris was seated in one of the dining room chairs. Tom was happy that he at least placed his dirty plates in the sink. 

“My mom,” he said, by way of explanation. 

Chris nodded. “Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “Are they gone or something?”

“Yes, visiting my aunt. I was supposed to go, but I really need to get ahead in this class. I’m not very good at it.” He laughed softly, pink rising in his cheeks. “Speaking of which, we can go upstairs where I have my things. Or I can bring them down here, whichever,” he added quietly. 

“We can go up. Is it okay if I bring my water?”

“Of course.” 

Tom led the way, thanking the powers that be that he decided to clean his room last night. He brought Chris in, removing some clothing from the small sofa chair he had next to his desk. Chris sank onto it, putting his backpack on the floor next to his feet. He gripped his glass between his open knees, the condensation rolling in fat drops down the sides. Tom sat in his desk chair, bringing his binder closer to him. 

“So, I’ve gone through some of the questions in the book. I really struggled with yesterday’s last question. That’s why I had to, um. Never mind. Anyway. Did you bring your book with you?” He casually flipped back a couple of pages, hoping Chris missed his mention of yesterday’s incident. Chris stared at him a moment and then reached down to open his backpack. He brought out his textbook and a spiral notebook. He pulled a pencil from the front pocket and put it behind his ear while he tucked a leg under him, finding a comfortable position. 

“Okay, so I was able to do the first four problems. But after that…” He looked up sheepishly at Tom, who smiled widely. He’d been able to do all ten problems and a few from the next chapter. 

“That’s fine. We can take these one at a time.”

They spent the next three hours going over each problem, until Chris was finally caught up with Tom. He noticed that the shadows had grown longer in his room. He rose to turn on the light. Chris also stood, stretching up toward the ceiling. 

“I didn’t realize so much time had passed. Are you hungry or something?” Tom said as he straightened his papers. 

“Yeah, I could eat. But hey, I owe you big time. Me barging in here and taking up all your time. You helping me with this.” Tom was shaking his head, ready to say no, it was not a bother at all, when Chris said, “How about we go out for some burgers. My treat.”

“Your treat?” Tom said, unbelieving. Had Chris just asked him out to eat with him? It was almost five o’clock in the evening; all the burger joints would be packed with people from their school. His mind raced, reminding himself that Chris probably meant nothing by it. 

Chris on the other hand, thought Tom meant something else entirely. “Yeah, I work after school during the off season with my dad at his practice. It’s nothing important, sort mail; make copies, things like that. But I save up money here and there. It’s not a problem. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Uh, okay, sure. Yeah.” He grabbed his wallet off his dresser and led Chris back downstairs. Tom was trying to keep a level head. But it was too surreal. Tom didn’t really have any friends. He kept to himself at school, eating alone or staying around or near the theater, where he knew people, obviously. But nothing lasting, just purely for the purpose of stage productions. He preferred staying home, reading, or visiting the library and used bookstores. He couldn’t remember a time he ever went to eat burgers with someone, much less a person like Chris. Chris, who was golden and warm, strong and happy. 

Tom locked the door behind them and they climbed into Chris’s car. Tom sank back into the seat, a bit wound up. He flexed his hands after he buckled his seat belt, aware of the movements Chris made next to him. The car felt much smaller with Chris in it, his broad shoulders and muscled legs drawing Tom’s eyes. He glanced down at his own legs, clothed in his jeans, but he still knew their paleness, their thinness. He self-consciously pressed his hands against his knees and took a deep breath. Chris started up the car and pulled away from the curb. 

“There’s a place over on Ashland that’s pretty good. I go there sometimes with the guys after games.”

Tom nodded. He was pretty sure he knew which place Chris was talking about, but he’d only been there a couple of times himself, and always alone. “So, uh, you don’t have basketball related things in the summer?” He mentally kicked himself as soon as he said it. Basketball related things? Really, Tom?

Chris stopped at a red light. “No, we start conditioning again usually in September for tryouts in October, early November. But I like to stay active in the summer. I run in the evenings and sometimes I sneak into the school gym on weekends to lift weights.”

Tom turned wide eyes to Chris. “You break in? But how?” 

Chris tossed him an easy, secretive smile. “My secret. Maybe I’ll show you sometime. Do you lift?” 

Tom crossed his arms over his flat chest. “Not really, no.”

Chris pressed the accelerator as soon as the light turned green. “You’re usually in drama, right?”

Tom’s breath caught in his throat and he blinked rapidly, feeling his pulse race. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at Chris, confusion furrowing his brow.

Glancing quickly at him, Chris flicked his eyes back to the road, brushing off the observation with a wave of his hand. “I have an agreement with my Lit teacher. I go to a couple of plays a semester and write her a paper, she gives me extra credit.”

“You’ve seen me act?” Tom tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. 

“In a few of them, yeah.” 

Feeling his chest tighten again, Tom tried to quell his anxiety. Which ones had he been to? Had he missed a line? Had his costume fit right? Had his stage makeup been smeared?

“Which, um. Which ones did you see?”

The drama club usually put on two plays a semester. Chris had been in school with them for about a year. That meant that Chris probably saw up to four plays since he started with them and –.

“Well, you were in three of the ones I saw,” Chris said, interrupting his thoughts. “So I guess it’s better if I told you the one you weren’t in.” 

Tom laughed quietly, nervously, hating how it sounded.

“Let’s see, the one you weren’t in was…” He thought for a moment. “The Sound of Music.”

It was true. Tom was assigned backstage duties. He explained it to Chris. “I was in charge of lighting for the first act. And then costume assistance for the second act. I was voted off the island because I can’t sing to save my life.”

They both laughed and Tom felt the tightness in his chest loosen. 

“Do you often get speaking parts in the plays? I mean, sometimes a person can be a tree in the background. It’s hard to tell.”

Tom laughed. “Correct. We do have people who stand in as props, but I’ve been lucky in my auditions.”

Chris pulled into a space in the parking lot of the restaurant and turned off the ignition. “Maybe you’re just really good.” He glanced at Tom. “I think so.”

Tom didn’t even try hiding the blush he felt blooming on his face. He held his breath and whispered to the window. “I really like it.”

“And you should. But hey, I’ve only seen you in three plays. You may be really awful.”

Tom turned to Chris and saw a grin splitting his smooth face. “Shut it, you.”

The restaurant was noisy and dim, music blaring from speakers hidden somewhere in the ceilings and potted plants. He and Chris were practically the tallest ones in the room. There was a group of people waiting to order at the front cashiers, while other people lounged on squeaky plastic booths and stand-alone tables. Chris led them to the end of the line and Tom leaned forward a bit, reading the menu. 

“Ever eaten here before?” Chris raised his voice slightly to be heard over the blare of the music.

Tom nodded. “Yeah, it’s good.”

They inched up the line.

“Hey, Chris!” They both turned to the door where four of Chris’s teammates were heading out with some girls Tom didn’t recognize. Chris smiled at them and waved. 

“Why’s your phone off? We’ve been calling you! Come over later. Last minute party at Stephanie’s!” The boy yelling pointed at the girl with long brown hair and wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. “Her parents are gone!” The group started laughing loudly at something one of them said. Without waiting for Chris to reply, they pushed out the door one by one. 

Chris was casually looking up at the menu when Tom sneaked a peek at him. He didn’t say anything when Chris didn’t say anything. 

When Chris took out a cell phone from his pocket, Tom took the opportunity to glance around, letting his eyes wander over the people in the restaurant. Most were people his age. Not all of them were from his school, but he did recognize some faces, kids that were busy laughing, smiling, eating and overall enjoying themselves and not paying any attention to him and Chris. He breathed out slowly.

Looking forward again, Tom’s heart nearly stopped when he saw who was at the front of the line. A handful of people ahead of them stood between him and Mr. Shaw, who was pulling out his wallet and handing the cashier a crisp bill. The girl behind the counter handed him his change with a receipt and he stepped to the side to wait for his order. 

Tom ducked his head down and hunched his shoulders, trying to appear less tall. It didn’t work. Mr. Shaw had cast his gaze over the crowd and saw Tom standing in his line of vision. He smiled widely and walked over. 

Without being aware of it, Tom took a step closer to Chris, their elbows brushing. Chris looked up from his phone, his brow furrowed, about to ask Tom what was wrong when Mr. Shaw spoke.

“Tom!”

Both he and Chris raised their heads and that was when Mr. Shaw must have realized Chris was standing with Tom, because he faltered slightly. 

“Hey, Mr. Shaw, how’s it going?” Chris said over the din of the other people in the room. Tom was hyperaware of Mr. Shaw’s proximity to him, his skin crawling when he caught sight of Mr. Shaw’s hand holding the folded receipt, remembering how it had felt on his shoulder, the warmth. He also couldn’t help but notice how Chris’s right foot came forward a bit, his leg now in front of Tom’s left. Tom looked up at Chris, who was staring at Mr. Shaw without blinking, a tight smile on his face. 

“Chris, good to see you, too. How’s everything going?”

“Great. We just came to pick up some burgers before heading back to Tom’s.” Chris’s voice was light and cheery, but the insinuation was there nonetheless. Mr. Shaw narrowed his eyes slightly and Tom slowly stood to regular height, Chris’s presence beside him an enormous confidence boost. 

“Wonderful, hope you two are working on your homework assignments.”

“Among other things.” Chris’s smile grew.

Mr. Shaw glanced at Tom and gave a forced smile. The girl at the front counter shouted out a number.

Mr. Shaw looked at his receipt. “That’s me. You kids have fun. See you Monday.” He patted Tom twice on the shoulder, a gesture that could be seen as simply casual and friendly, but Tom tensed under the monumental weight of what he knew it implied. 

Chris stared after Mr. Shaw, watched as he picked up his bag of food and disappeared out the door. Tom was standing motionless, only moving when the people in front of them advanced in line. 

“Are you alright?” Chris murmured, angling his head to the side, by Tom’s ear.

“I’m fine, Chris.” They were next in line. “I just don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either.”

When Tom stayed silent, mired in his confusion of what Chris just said, Chris asked, “We can go, if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. Let’s eat. I’m really okay.” 

Chris studied his face and then whispered, “Okay.”

After they ordered and Chris paid, Chris led the way outside where a couple of tables were empty toward the rear of the patio alongside the restaurant. Wide, yawning umbrellas ruffled gently in the late evening breeze. Music still streamed from hidden speakers somewhere, but it was much quieter than inside. They ate in silence, Tom enjoying his burger despite Mr. Shaw’s intrusive presence earlier. Between bites, he caught glimpses of Chris eating. Long, wide hands gripping the burger, tapered fingers snatching up seasoned fries, the closed mouth, soft lips. His fingertips looked rough with callouses.

Tom glanced down at his food and swallowed thickly.

Chris took a sip from his soda, put it down, and took another sip. He wiped his hands on a napkin and leaned forward a bit.

“Listen, Tom. I know you don’t—“

“Can we not talk about this?” Tom wiped his hands and drank from his soda, looking out toward the parking lot. 

“He touched you again.” He whipped his head around and stared at Chris. “Don’t you see?” 

Tom scrunched up his brows and raised his shoulders, confused.

Chris smiled. “He’s jealous.”

Tom blinked. “Jealous.”

“Yes, he thought you were alone, came to say hi, saw me, heard what I said about us going to your house, maybe doing homework, maybe not. He couldn’t help but touch you as he left. Even if the pats on the shoulder look harmless to others around us, we know what they mean, Tom.”

Tom squinted at him, still unbelieving. “You figured that out from just the thirty seconds he was with us?” 

A light pink rose in Chris’s cheeks and Tom couldn’t stop staring, wanting to touch and feel the warmth spreading on his tan skin. “Um, maybe a little. But actually no.”

About to ask what he meant, Tom hesitated when Chris frowned and reached into his pocket, bringing out his cell phone. He sighed almost inaudibly, but Tom picked up on it and wondered who was texting Chris. He typed a hasty reply and put his phone down on the table. 

“All I’m saying is that even if you told someone else about this—“

“I wouldn’t—“

“But if you did—“

“I can’t—“

“Listen to me.”

Tom leaned back and crossed his arms. 

“They wouldn’t believe you. The teachers or whoever you go to. It’s just this feeling you got and a couple of touches he’s stolen on the sly. Nothing else. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. In class.”

Tom held very still, eyes on Chris, on the way he leaned forward, hand slowly tapping the table top with every emphasis. Chris was mostly right. 

“I’ve noticed it.”

He has? Tom couldn’t breathe.

“And just now, inside? He’s threatened by me. And I think before he gets braver and tries something more, he should be discouraged.”

“Discouraged?”

Chris nodded. 

“But how?”

“Well,” Chris said, running a hand through his blond hair, rubbing the back of his neck. “And only if you’re okay with it, but I thought, that maybe, you and I could pretend that I was your…boyfriend.”

His words floated into the air between them, hanging and waiting. Tom blinked twice, eyes wide, mouth parted. Had he heard Chris correctly? 

Chris stared at him and Tom thought he saw a flicker of nervousness in the way Chris bit the corner of his lip for a split second and then stopped.

“It won’t work,” Tom whispered, not denying the idea but giving himself some time to figure out exactly what Chris’s proposition would mean. 

“It has to,” Chris whispered, leaning close. “Think about it. We start our senior year in September. He’s the only one who teaches math at that level. This isn’t something that’s only going to last the summer, Tom.”

Tom groaned and leaned forward on his elbows, face in his hands, hating the fact that Chris was right and loving the way his name sounded coming from his lips. 

“Just think about it, okay.” 

“Okay.”

Chris began gathering their trays and stood up to dispose of their trash in the bin next to the door. 

Tom’s thoughts were a whirlwind of questions. After a minute he stood and walked with Chris back to his car. Once buckled in, he asked very quietly, “Is it that obvious?”

Chris turned to look at him, turning the ignition and adjusting his mirror. “What?” He hadn’t heard him. 

Tom sighed. “Do you think that I’m...you know.”

Chris’s face softened, and he held the brake down. “It doesn’t matter to me either way. You be who you are, Tom. Nothing is going to change that. If you are, fine. If you’re not, then we’ll keep this up until you feel comfortable stopping it. I just want to help.” He thought a moment. “And we don’t have to pretend to do this if you’re uncomfortable. If that was insensitive of me to suggest, then I’m very sorry. I want you to be comfortable with this one hundred percent. Either way, I’m here for you if you need me.”

Tom nodded, his eyes on Chris. “What about you? I have never needed to care what other people think. I don’t have friends. But you. You’re on the basketball team. You have a lot of friends. You don’t care what they’ll say?”

Chris put the car in gear and started backing out. “Tom, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty good at what I do for the team. I like to play and I think my teammates appreciate that about me. Besides, I’m close with most of the other players. I don’t see any of them saying something that will get their teeth knocked out.” He turned onto the street and started for home. “And anyway, who you like is nobody else’s business. And for those who say it is, well, they probably don’t want their teeth knocked out either.”

He turned to Tom and smiled. Tom smiled back. 

Chris dropped him off at his house. As he was about to get out of the car, Tom asked, “Going to that party?” 

“Nah. I’m going for a run in a bit and then lifting some weights.” That mischievous glint was back in his eyes and Tom knew he would be doing some breaking and entering before the night was over. He felt a rush of warmth spread in his chest at knowing he was the only one privy to Chris’s secret. 

Tom hesitated. Then, “If we decide to do this, how does it work?”

Chris thought for a moment. In the darkness growing around them, he said, “I know you don’t need protecting, Tom. But if am going to pretend to be your boyfriend, that is what I will do. I’ll protect you. I’ll laugh with you, I’ll look for you. I’ll hang out with you. If you’re comfortable, I’ll hold your hand, hug you. Whatever it takes to convince that sleaze ball Shaw.”

Tom was staring down at the pavement through the open door as Chris said this, every word making his heart jump a little harder. But he knew Chris was just being a friend. There would be no feeling behind his actions, just doing Tom a favor. Tom would blossom under every touch, every look Chris gave him while Chris would continue on unaffected. Even still, Tom knew he would accept, knowing his heart would most likely be broken by graduation, if this even lasted that long. He had to, desired to, felt he deserved to feel something, anything. 

“Okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes to the inevitability of his pending heartache. 

“Okay,” Chris echoed, his blue eyes visible in the near gloom. 

Tom climbed out of the car and walked up the driveway, fetching his keys from his pants pocket. Chris waited until Tom walked into the house, turning at the last moment and answering the wave he knew Chris was tossing his way. Chris smiled and pulled from the curb, his break lights growing dimmer in the night. 

Tom ran up to his room and crashed down onto the sofa chair, the same one Chris had sat in the whole afternoon. He rubbed his hands over his face, wondering what in the hell he just got himself into. 

“Well, shit,” he moaned into the room, suddenly exhausted and elated at the same time. 

A loud thud sounded against his wall from outside and he jumped up, turning frantically toward his window, which was shuttered and locked. 

“The hell?” he said to no one in the room. Then, the noise again, equally loud and making his lamp vibrate on the desk, which stood before his window, facing the street. He leaned up to the window and slanted the blinds, peeking out. On his driveway stood Chris, a basketball in hand. His car sat idling on the street. Chris seemed ready to toss the basketball against the wall again when Tom lifted the blinds and opened his window.

“What are you doing?” he called down in a loud whisper.

“I’m going to need your number,” Chris replied in the same loud whisper.

Tom laughed, not believing the situation. “Hang on.”

He fell back into his room and scribbled his cell phone number on a torn piece of paper. He crumpled it into a tiny ball and leaned back out the window. He tossed it down to Chris, who caught it in one hand. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t just use a rock. Your basketball scared the shit out of me.”

“No way, too cliché!” He frowned. “I did not mean to rhyme that.”

Tom laughed again, his hands gripping the window frame. 

“Goodnight, Tom,” Chris said as he backed away.

“Goodnight.” Tom waved and closed his window, pleading his heart to stop its rapid beating.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The messages I've received have been so kind and encouraging. Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoy the rest :)

Chris couldn’t sleep. The image of Tom leaning out his window tossing that small ball of paper at him, his hand gripping the edge, it was burned into his mind. Upon arriving home, he visited with his parents for a bit and then immediately changed into some running shorts and a sweatshirt. He ran what he figured was about five miles, avoiding Tom’s house altogether. Tom in his room, in that entire house, all alone made his thoughts wander into dangerous territory. Tom, who might be watching TV or reading, biting his lip in concentration. By the end of his run, he was too exhausted to go lift weights.

His parents trusted him to do what he needed to do to stay successful in school and sports and he awarded their trust with doing just that. Apart from his slip in his math class, Chris was doing fine academically. When he mentioned that he would need to take summer school, they’d listened calmly and let him know that he would need to live with his consequences, something he already knew. Being an only child helped with this style of parenting, he thought. He’d heard enough horror stories of parents who were too controlling, too involved. Often times, he would come home and they would still be out. As doctors, they worked odd hours. Chris would prepare their coffee the night before and they would leave food for him in the stove for when he got home from school. He liked to tape notes to the refrigerator, letting them know when he had games or meetings with teachers. Whether or not they would be able to make it, he didn’t know, but it was common to see them walk in together just before jump ball or pull into the parking lot five minutes before his meetings with teachers. This kind of freedom was not something he wished to compromise anytime soon. It was this very independence that had allowed him to grow up more maturely than his peers. He had been deciding things at a far younger age than everyone else.

Seeing that his dad was already asleep and his mother still not home when he got back from his run, he took a cold shower and flopped into bed unclothed. His overhead fan was on and helped dry his damp body. The heat from the day was taking longer to dissipate in the evenings, a sure sign that summer was in full swing. He rubbed his eyes, bleary from exhaustion. The day had turned into something both exciting and surprising. He hadn’t expected himself to tell Tom what he had planned so soon. His almost confession in Tom’s kitchen was interrupted by the phone ringing. Then at the restaurant, he just said it. Those few seconds Tom had been silent were like centuries to Chris, whose pulse sounded loudly in his own ears. But then hearing Tom’s hesitant and shy questions about the matter, well, they gave Chris a feeling of hope. Tom had no idea how often Chris thought of him, something he felt had become exponentially stronger since spending time with Tom.

“One day. I can’t believe it,” he said to himself, amused that Tom had overwhelmed his thoughts in so short a time. Tom, whom he couldn’t believe didn’t have any friends. He was so interesting and kind. Was it because Tom didn’t want any? Or because he felt he didn’t deserve any? Chris thought that might be it. He picked up on Tom’s tiny sense of self-deprecation, completely ridiculous in his opinion. He would have to show him he deserved so much more than he was allowing himself.

Sleep pulled at him and he turned on his side, grabbing a pillow and folding it close. Tom’s laughter echoed through his head, eyes bright in his memory of him hanging out the window. He smiled, darkness following.

***

Tom woke Sunday morning hard. He gasped as his blankets wrapped tightly around his waist, the friction shooting sparks up his spine. He slid his hand down his stomach, his skin burning and taut. He pressed his palm against his cock through the blanket, holding back a moan as his swollen erection jumped at his touch. Moving his hand to the side, he slid it beneath the edge of the blanket and wrapped his fingers around his cock through his boxers, squeezing. His eyes fluttered closed as he arched his neck, rubbing up and down. He was clumsy and hurried, his need for release strong. It felt as if all his blood had drained to the center of his body, his skin was hot and extra sensitive. He reached low and cupped his balls, remembering a guy doing that in one of the videos he saw online. Immediately, he felt his climax nearing. He rubbed harder, the wide circles he was doing becoming smaller and more concentrated on the tip of his cock. A flash of blue eyes zoomed into his mind and he came with a choked groan, his come warm and dripping in his boxers. He lay back, panting and near tears. He was certain that pretending to be with Chris would be both the best and worst idea ever.

He’d experienced his first orgasm at the age of thirteen in the shower. It was the single most intense and confusing thing he’d ever had happen to him. Slowly, his sexual curiosity became a thing to keep secret, to keep hidden. As all teenagers find out, the burgeoning knowledge of sex and all it encompasses can be isolating and overwhelming. Even more so for Tom, who found himself attracted not to girls with their long hair and soft limbs, although he did think that girls had a beauty to them that was not to be denied, but to other boys. The way their skin flushed when exerted, the veins visible in their forearms and necks, the depth of their voices, their strength.

He devoted himself to other things, ignoring his body’s demands, only succumbing when alone and under his own administrations. He watched videos online and read about how it might be with a man. All of it terrifying and beautiful. Nobody he went to school with ever captured his interest enough to want to explore that daring wish of his. And so he acted and he read and he studied and he slept and repeat, repeat, repeat. Then Chris Hemsworth walked his way into his school and his life and his fantasies. Chris, who seemed the all-male example of beauty. Smooth skin, blond hair that looked great both long and short. Sometimes he wore it up in a bun for games and other times it was short and trim. Height that was both powerful and welcoming, his face all the while friendly but able to transform into the vision of fierceness and hunger and victory.

Tom sighed, sitting up in bed and removing his sticky boxers. He gathered other dirty clothes and walked downstairs to the laundry room. He started up a load to wash and then walked back upstairs to shower. Since he and Chris had finished all of the math problems, plus the ones from the next chapter, Tom had a free day. His parents would be returning that night and he would no doubt be kept busy hearing all the stories his mother had to tell about his family up east. He dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, leaving his feet bare. He put his clean clothes into the dryer and then collapsed onto the sofa with a book. He’d been reading for about half an hour when he got up to fold his clothes. He grabbed a soda before returning to the couch, picking up his book and sinking into the story. The house was dead quiet.

Suddenly from a distance, he heard a pinging sound. He sat up, leaning his ear up. Was that his phone? Understanding dawned on him and he jumped up and raced up the stairs. He hardly ever used his phone because, sadly, he had no need to. He hoped it was who he thought it was. He breezed into his room and picked up his phone where he’d left it charging on the dresser. There was one new message. It was a random number, but the message made him grin wide.

“ _Surprisingly, I have no homework. This is highly unusual :)_ ”

Tom typed back a quick response. “ _Same. How did that even happen_?”

“ _My boyfriend helped me. You?_ ”

Tom laughed into the room. “ _I had to help my boyfriend, too. He didn’t know a thing._ ”

“ _Hey now. I might know this boyfriend of yours and I’m going to tell him you said that._ ”

“ _Right. Did you break any laws last night?_ ”

“ _Nope. Ran a bit. Then passed out._ ”

Tom had a quick vision of what Chris would look like asleep in bed and shook his head to clear it. “ _My night was even less eventful than that. Read and then sleep. Some jerk was around here bouncing basketballs against innocent people’s walls._ ”

“ _I saw him! I chased him off during my jog. You’re welcome._ ”

Tom leaned up against his dresser, his smile hurting his cheeks. This guy was impossible. He loved that he wrote in complete sentences.

“ _Haha, thanks._ ”

“ _What are you up to?_ ”

“ _Washing. Reading. No homework, remember? :)_ ”

Tom blushed, remembering why he needed to wash clothes in the first place. Outside he heard a horn and looked out the window. His parents were back. He checked the time. Eleven o’clock in the morning. They were home early.

“ _We should talk about tomorrow. Wanna meet?_ ”

“ _OK. Sure. Parents just got home. Sometime later?_ ”

“ _OK call me._ ”

Tom felt his heart flutter at that last message. It was so familiar, so wonderful. To look forward to calling a person because they wanted to hear from you. Tom reminded himself to slow down. Chris was only thinking logically and wanted to plan what their next move would be tomorrow. Being excited to hear from Tom probably had nothing to do with it.

He text back a quick “OK”. After saving Chris’s number, he walked downstairs to greet his parents.

***

Chris stared down at the texts he and Tom just exchanged. The smile on his face grew slowly, solitarily, a smile private and meant for only one. He put his cell phone down and stared around the room. It was not yet noon, so he changed into some basketball shorts and a T-shirt. He laced his sneakers and put a ball, towel and water bottle into a small gym bag. He slipped his cell phone into the outer pocket of his bag and then left the house. He drove down to the high school, deserted on a Sunday.

The outdoor basketball courts were located at the back of the school, next to the soccer fields. Chris parked in the teacher’s lot and walked over the bright green grass, already starting to get crisp from the sun. The gate was always unlocked, the door looped only with chains. He unwound the chain and stepped onto the courts. He got his basketball and started shooting, starting close to the basket and methodically working a wide circle until he was making three pointers. His thoughts kept straying to Tom. He was hesitant about calling Tom his boyfriend in the text, only because he didn’t know if it would make Tom uncomfortable or not. But Tom’s playful banter in return eased his worries. In reality, it would make Chris incredibly happy to be able to call Tom his boyfriend out loud, in public, for real. And that is what they planned on doing, to an extent, as long as Tom was comfortable doing it, Chris reminded himself. He would never presume to expect affection or love from Tom, even if Chris was feeling something of the sort for him already. Tom just needed help, a favor, to get Shaw away from him.

_Shaw_ , Chris thought angrily, watching as the ball flashed through the net in a clean swish. At least the bastard gives me focus, he thought. But Shaw’s focus on Tom made him grit his teeth. Tom, who didn’t desire that attention, who tended to lower his eyes instead of speak out against what he did or didn’t want. Chris wanted to stare at Tom the whole time they were working on their math problems. His blue eyes, with the lashes golden brown, clumped into long spikes, his soft mouth, his jaw strong and sharp, especially when he bit down while concentrating. Chris had wanted to graze his thumb over the light sprinkling of scruff dusting Tom’s chin and jawline. He curled his fingers into his palm instead, the sting drawing him back to their work.

“Hey, Chris!”

Chris turned and saw one of his teammates jogging across the grass toward him, basketball in hand.

“Hey, Daniel,” Chris said, bouncing the ball on the concrete as Daniel Keller walked through the gate.

“Where were you last night at that Stephanie girl’s party? Jaime said he invited you,” he said as he and Daniel shook hands.

“Wasn’t up to it,” Chris said, as he began dribbling again. “I was with someone anyway.”

Daniel began dribbling and they alternated taking shots. “Jaime said he saw you were grabbing some food with someone. Said he didn’t recognize him.”

Chris smiled, knowing when someone was fishing for information. But Daniel Keller was harmless. He got the impression that he was being genuinely curious.

“Is he from another school?”

“Nope, he’s in our grade.”

Both men stayed quiet. Then, “How is your summer class going? I can’t believe you actually had to do it!”

“I know. It’s not too bad. Tom is in the class and he’s been helping me with the material. It’s not over yet.” Never mind that class was already two weeks in and he and Tom had only one study session. The short amount of time he’d known Tom felt like much longer to Chris.

“Tom?”

“Yeah. That’s who I was with yesterday.”

Daniel fired a shot and then said, “That’s cool, man.”

They played a game of one-on-one, which ended in a tie. Chris was taking a drink of water and wiping his face with a towel when he checked his phone. There was a message from Tom.

“ _Parents are napping. Are you free?_ ”

It was sent thirty minutes ago. Chris dialed Tom’s number and then walked a bit out of the gate, leaving Daniel to shoot by himself. It rang four times and then Tom’s voice, “Hello?”

“Tom.”

“Hi, Chris,” Tom’s voice sounded much deeper on the phone, curling into Chris’s ear. Chris closed his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m out at the school.”

“Let me guess.”

“Haha, no. It’s not what you think. I’m shooting some hoops on the outside court. A teammate of mine showed up and we played a short game.”

“My parents ambushed me with stories and news of my relatives. I’ll probably be free for the rest of the afternoon since they’re fast asleep now.”

“Okay, I’m about done here. I need to run home and shower. Wanna come over around two?”

Chris gave him directions to his house, which wasn’t far from Tom’s, and then they hung up.

“Hey, I’m out of here. Thanks for the game.”

“No problem. Good seeing you. We’ll have to meet up again before school starts.”

“Will do. See you.”

Chris grabbed his bag and jogged across the grass. Once in the car, he put the A/C on high and drove home. The prospect of seeing Tom again made him almost giddy. He raised the music on the radio and sang quietly along to the song.

After he showered and changed, Chris picked up his room a bit, throwing dirty clothes in the hamper, putting shoes in the closet, making his bed. He was rearranging some items on his desk when his phone buzzed.

“ _I’m outside_.”

Chris peeked outside his window and saw Tom standing on the driveway. He was looking up the street. Chris smiled and left his room, taking the stairs two at a time. He ran a hand through his wet hair before opening the door and waving Tom inside.

“Hey,” Tom said.

“Hi,” Chris returned. They stared at each other until Tom looked down.

“Come upstairs,” Chris said as he turned to the staircase. He led Tom to his room, which was like Tom’s room, just on the other side. Their houses were like photonegatives of each other. Tom stepped in hesitatingly, looking up at the corners, taking everything in. Chris didn’t know if he could accurately attribute Tom’s constant blushes to his shyness or maybe, Chris hoped, possibly Tom might like him too? He quickly banished that thought, not wanting to get distracted.

“Have a seat wherever,” he offered to Tom. “Thirsty?”

Tom shook his head and sat down at the edge of Chris’s bed. Chris took the chair he used at his desk.

“Did your parents have fun?”

Tom smiled. “Yeah, they did. But they were dead tired. I guess one of my cousins stayed over and her baby cried all night. They went to sleep as soon as they were done catching me up with everything.”

Chris nodded, lacing his fingers together in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. “Are you close with your cousins?”

Tom shrugged. “I guess. When we all get together, we hang out. But we don’t actively look for each other outside of that.” Chris watched him pick at his short fingernails. “What about you?”

“I don’t live near cousins who are my age.” Tom looked up at him quickly and then back down again. Chris wished he could raise that chin, look him in his eye and kiss him. It was Chris’s turn to blush and look down. He cleared his throat.

“So about tomorrow.” Tom raised his eyes and nodded. Chris leaned back. “Would you like me to pick you up? Seeing as you’re very close by.”

Tom nodded almost instantly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Chris said, a smile in his voice. He was about to speak when Tom interrupted him.

“I-I’m very new at this. I’ve never held hands with anyone, never kissed anyone. Hugging yes, but not like that. I actually love giving hugs.” He swallowed, thinking. “But I think this will work. You were right. I got the feeling that he was jealous of you yesterday, too. God only knows why,” he said, burying his face in his hands. Chris almost got out of his chair to kneel in front of Tom to show him why, but then Tom spoke again and he held still. “I might be nervous and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think it’s your fault. I will probably mess up and it’ll all be ruined--.”

“Tom,” Chris said, his hands itching to reach for him. “You shouldn’t ever have to explain away or come up with an excuse for your inexperience. I, frankly, think it’s completely endearing.” Tom looked at him a little incredulously. “I’m serious. And I will try to read you as often as I can. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to be comfortable.”

“But you’re probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and are confident and--.”

“I had a girlfriend once before. Just one.” Tom’s mouth snapped shut. “Before we moved out here. She was nice and she was pretty. We never slept together. Came close to it. We fooled around a bit, made out and stuff. But nothing more than that. ” Tom’s face was turning a gorgeous shade of pink. “Tom, I wouldn’t have offered to help you if I was uncomfortable with it or embarrassed in any way. Please believe me when I say that.”

Tom looked down, staring at the faded blue color in Chris’s carpet. He nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

Chris waited a beat, allowing Tom a moment, but also giving himself some time to calm the emotions swirling just behind his ribcage. “So tomorrow, I will pick you up. From there, I will leave it entirely up to you. I am there if you need me. If you need me to walk in first, let me know. If you need me to sit next to you, in front of you, behind you, tell me.”

“If I need to hold your hand?” Tom whispered meekly, wide eyes fixated on the corner of Chris’s desk.

Chris nodded. “Yes, exactly. It’s okay if you need to do that. Forget the other kids in the class. It’s me and you, okay? It’s fine if you need that reassurance. That’s what I’m there for. Once Shaw sees us together, he will have to get it through his thick skull that you are not and cannot be an object of his attention.” Chris rolled his eyes. “He should know this anyway, but sometimes we forget when we see something…” He wanted to say ‘beautiful’ but swallowed that down and ended up saying, “Something we want.”

Tom shook his head, as if wondering how anyone would ever want him.

“It’s only three hours. The rest of the day we have free. We can see how things go. Okay?” he said, peering low and trying to catch Tom’s eye. “And anyway, we have the next chapter down, so no worries there.” Tom raised his head and smiled, his eyes crinkling a bit. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Chris was dying to know what he wanted to say. He waited.

Tom fiddled with the sleeve of his T-shirt. “You’ve kissed someone before? That girl?”

Chris fought his surprise. “Yes.”

“I’ve never…” Tom started and then stopped, looking down.

“I know.”

Silence.

“Would you like to try it?” Chris almost didn’t say it. The words barely left his mouth, as it was, his hope practically choking them dry. Tom sat frozen on his bed.

“You mean…now?” Tom’s words were paper thin, like smoke. But Chris heard them. He couldn’t not hear them.

“If you’d like.”

Tom blinked. He looked around the room and then shifted his eyes back to Chris. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch and Chris felt his lungs close up.

From outside, they heard a car door slam. They both whipped their heads toward the window. Chris cursed in his mind and stood up to check who it was.

“My mom,” he said. He turned back to see that Tom had stood.

“I should go.” There was a small smile on this face, and if Chris wasn’t mistaken, it looked like it was laced with regret.

“Okay,” Chris said, walking him out. They went down the hall and into the foyer. Chris’s mother was singing to herself in the kitchen when they slipped out the front door. It was still early, but the street was pleasantly still, most of its residents relaxing indoors before another workweek.

“Thanks again,” Tom said, stopping at the curb.

“It’s nothing.” Tom stood with his arms folded over his chest. This made him look taller than he already was. Chris wished he could hug him.

“I’ll pick you up like 7:45, okay?”

“Okay.” He turned and started up the street. Tom turned back once and called out, “Bye!”

Chris raised his hand and waved, watching him go.


	5. Chapter 5

Tom climbed the stairs to his room, suddenly feeling heavy. His parents were still asleep. All for the better, he thought. He wanted to sleep, too, but it was still early. He would only end up waking up hours before his alarm. The roiling strength of his emotions must have taken a deep toll on him as he shut the door to his room quietly behind him. He got his things ready for school in the morning, zipping up his backpack and putting it aside. He looked through his clothes, not wanting to appear too different but suddenly conscious of what he looked like. He sighed, giving up. He collapsed on the bed and pulled out the paperback he kept safe under his pillow. Falling into a book always calmed him down. He left his mind for a bit and travelled the lands and thoughts of those on the page. Around seven o’clock he heard stirrings in the hallway. There was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said, placing the book open faced on his chest.

His mother stepped in. She was wearing a bathrobe over flannel pajamas and white slippers.

“Hello, darling.”

He smiled at her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, finally.” She laughed. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not hungry. I’m actually tired, but I was reading for a bit.”

She frowned and walked up to the side of the bed. She tested his forehead with her fingers. “I hope you’re not getting sick, love.”

He shook her off gently. “Probably not.” She brushed his hair back for a few seconds. “How is your summer class going?”

He sat up a bit and lay the book down on the bed. “Fine. Still about six weeks left.”

She nodded and walked over to his dresser, fiddling with his stacks of scripts from school and aligned his books on Shakespeare. “Anyone you know in the class? It would be dreadful to go to summer school and not know anyone.”

Tom blinked and decided what the hell. “Actually, a friend of mine is in the class with me.”

She looked around at him. “A friend?” A smile was blooming on her face.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Mom, it’s not that big a deal.”

“Tell me, who is this friend?” Tom planted his feet on the floor and rubbed his face. “His name is Chris.” His mother stepped closer and sat at his side. She touched him softly on the shoulder and he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He turned in her direction and whispered, “I really like him.”

Her expression softened and she rubbed a small circle on his shoulder. “And have you told him yet, darling?”

He sighed. “No. We only recently started hanging out. He’s really nice. He’s on the basketball team.” Tom had no intention of telling his mother the details of the arrangement between Chris and himself. But he was glad he was able to talk to her at least about Chris in general.

“And do you think he likes you?”

“I don’t know. He mentioned that he dated a girl before his family moved here. So I’m not sure he would even be interested in me.”

“I think you should spend more time with him. Spending time with him will give you more of an idea if he likes you for you or as a friend. And you don’t have to rush into anything. Okay, darling?”

Tom nodded. She reached over and kissed his forehead.

“Hi, son.”

His father appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Dad.”

“I hope your weekend was more exciting than ours was,” his father said, leaning on the doorjamb.

Tom laughed and his mother shook her head. “It was not all that bad. Yes, the crying baby was rather much.”

His father grumbled something under his breath. Then, more loudly, “You were such a good baby, Tom. You never fussed, never cried obnoxiously.”

“I’m glad about that. I would be terribly sorry if I gave you both too much trouble,” Tom said, smiling. “But my weekend was okay. Worked on homework. Spent time with a friend.”

“Oh yeah?” His father’s smile grew, just like his mother’s had a moment ago.

“Not you, too,” Tom said, standing and beginning to usher them both out the door.

At the door, his mother turned to him. “Darling, we just want you to know that we trust you. You’re such a good boy and we trust you. If this boy likes you back, we don’t want you to be afraid to acknowledge that, okay?”

His father looked to his mother in surprise at the mention of a boy. He turned to Tom with a smile. “You like someone, son?”

Tom looked down. “His name is Chris.”

Tom’s father nodded and shrugged easily. “Just tell him. That’s what I would do.”

His mother, still looking at Tom, shook her head gently, addressing his father, “Sometimes it’s not that easy.”

His father stepped close and put his hand on his son’s chest. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m just going to see how it goes. I’m not saying it will be one way or another,” Tom said.

His parents nodded. Stepping close to hug him, his mother said, “Okay, darling. Are you sure you’re not hungry? We’re going to eat some cereal or something.”

“No thanks. I’m going to read a bit more and then go to sleep.”

He watched them walk down the hall and head downstairs.

Tom closed his door and sat down on his sofa chair. He turned on his TV and flipped through the channels. Settling on South Park, he watched mindlessly. Around nine, he was nodding off in the chair, the glow of the TV casting eerie shadows on his walls. A small pinging sound roused him. He sat up and cast his bleary eyes around his dark room. He searched around in bed and found his cell phone by his pillow.

_“Doing ok?”_

Tom smiled and started typing.

_“Yes. I’m ok. Watching South Park.” “_

_"I like that show, too.”_

Several moments passed but Tom didn’t know what to say, so he turned off the TV and brushed his teeth.

Tom didn’t know how he knew with certainty, but he felt something monumental had been set in motion upon seeing Mr. Shaw at the restaurant. He didn’t know how Mr. Shaw would react upon realizing that Chris was Tom’s boyfriend. Would it make him more aggressive? Would he cease his advances entirely? He bit his lip and typed a text to Chris, the phone’s screen blinding in the dark.

_“I’m nervous.”_

Two seconds passed.

_“I’m not.”_

_“I wish I had your confidence. Your courage.”_

He lay down and hugged his pillow, waiting for a response.

***

Chris was lying in bed, his iPod blasting music into his ears, but he had no trouble hearing Tom’s voice as if he’d said those words to him instead of in a message. He stared at the text, wanting to tell Tom that he was brave, that if he’d only let himself, his confidence would bloom beautifully. Instead he wrote: _“Confidence and courage don’t make people better.”_

Tom’s reply: _“I think they do.”_

Chris smiled and shook his head. “Stubborn,” he whispered to himself. _“Let’s not have our first fight ;-)”_

Tom wrote back right away. “ _Okay, babe ;-)”_

Chris had never smiled so hard in his life. _“Thanks, babe :) I’ll see you in the morning?”_

_“Ok. Goodnight.”_

_“Goodnight.”_

Chris slunk lower in bed, tossing off his blankets. The nights were very warm, but his skin was burning for another reason entirely.

In the morning, his alarm went off at seven o’clock. He hit snooze a couple of times, but then finally stumbled out of bed a quarter after seven. He brushed his teeth and took a quick shower. He changed and was eating a bowl of cereal by seven forty. He text Tom.

_“Leaving in five.”_

_“I’m ready.”_

Chris finished his breakfast and grabbed his backpack. He tied his hair back into a small bun. Flying down the stairs, he kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Have a great day, Christopher.” “Thanks, mom. You too. I might hang out with someone after class. I’ll be home later.”

She waved at him over her coffee, taking a cautious sip. “Fine, fine. Your father is working late today,” she said as an afterthought.

He nodded and smiled. “I’ll catch him later, then.”

He jogged out to his car and checked his watch. He drove down the few streets that separated his house from Tom’s. He parked and jumped out. He was about to knock when Tom opened the door.

“Hey,” Tom said with a small smile. “You didn’t have to get down.”

Chris shrugged. “It’s no problem. You ready?”

Tom picked up his backpack from just inside the door and closed it behind him. It felt good to be able to look someone in the eye, Chris thought. Tom was only about an inch or two shorter than him. They got in his car and he started it up.

“Thanks again. For the ride,” Tom said, buckling in.He laughed softly. “My mom wanted to know why I hadn’t left yet. I usually leave by seven thirty.”

“What did you tell her?”

Tom looked out the window, his blonde curls catching the morning light. “That a friend was picking me up.” Chris nodded. They stayed quiet, listening to a morning radio host interact with a guest caller. Pulling into the student parking lot, Chris took a spot just beneath a giant oak tree. There were only two other cars in the lot.

They got out of the car and Tom walked around to his side. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly out through his nose. Chris studied him, giving him some space.

“Okay,” Tom said, opening his eyes, a startling blue.

“Okay,” Chris replied and they walked up the front steps and into the cool hallway.


	6. Chapter 6

Tom’s heart was pounding. He could hear the blood in his ears. Chris was a solid presence beside him. As they approached the classroom door, Tom stalled, Chris stopping next to him. They stood by the rows of blue lockers and Tom swallowed.

“Sit by me?” he whispered.

“Of course.”

Tom nodded and then said, “I’ll go in first.”

He turned and walked into the classroom, immediately aware of Mr. Shaw behind his desk. Only one other student was already there. They would have to wait for the other two people to show up. He ignored Mr. Shaw and walked to his usual seat, hearing Chris follow him. He sat and began bringing out his binder and pencil as Chris took the seat to his right. Facing the front of the class, Tom accidentally made eye contact with Mr. Shaw, who looked up and smiled widely. 

“Good morning, Tom. Chris.” He nodded briefly to Chris, who didn’t say anything. His mother’s manners obligated him to respond, so Tom mumbled a quiet “good morning” and looked away quickly. 

He was clenching his pencil so tightly he was surprised it didn’t snap in two. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris lean over slightly, angling his head close to Tom’s.

“Relax,” he whispered in his ear, brushing a thumb over Tom’s wrist. Tom met Chris’s gaze and felt his body loosen, the nerve endings in his hand like warm coals. He nodded and smiled, taking a deep breath. Chris kept his thumb on Tom’s skin a few moments longer and then leaned away. Tom couldn’t help himself. He looked. Up front, Mr. Shaw was staring down at papers on his desk. His eyes looked narrowed and his face red. Had he seen? Tom thought so. The coil in his chest was slowly unwinding and he thought, maybe this would actually work.

The rest of the students trickled in after a few minutes and after collecting their homework, Mr. Shaw began their lesson. Tom was only partially paying attention. The topic they were on was already ingrained in his mind. He still took notes and attempted the practice problems, but his main focus was on Chris. He studied him out of the corner of his eye. Chris leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, flicking the tip of his pencil against his paper noiselessly. His left leg was splayed out in front of him in the middle of the aisle. Tom figured he was sending another territorial warning and he couldn’t help but smile to himself as he took down some more notes. 

Mr. Shaw assigned a problem out of the book before they took their break. Tom scribbled the equation and was soon circling the answer near the bottom of his page. He leaned back and looked to his right, surprised that Chris was already looking at him. Chris smiled and glanced down at his own page and Tom saw that he was finished with his problem too. When he looked back up, Chris winked at him. Tom felt his face turn hot as he blushed. The wink was a good move. Chris was doing a great job at this relationship they were pretending. He, on the other hand, felt like he was stumbling through what would come naturally for other teenagers. Mr. Shaw collected the papers from the students personally and when he reached Tom and Chris, he smiled and glanced at their answers. 

“Nice work, Tom. I see that you studied this weekend.”

Tom kept his gaze ahead but nodded silently.

Mr. Shaw walked away and gave them a ten-minute recess. Tom sprang up and he and Chris walked into the hallway. They continued out into the front of the school, where the trees cast dark shaded areas. Tom leaned against a tree and let his head sink back against the bark. 

“So far so good,” Chris said, standing off to the side, hands in his pockets.

Tom sighed. “Yeah, I think so.” He cleared his throat. “The wink and the whisper. Those were good. I’m pretty sure he noticed.”

Chris frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and stared off across the parking lot. He said nothing. 

Tom caught his reaction and worried he’d said something wrong. Biting his lip, he bent his legs and sat at the base of the tree, the air cooler closer to the earth. After hesitating a moment, Chris sat beside him, careful not to touch him. They turned when they heard someone come outside the front doors. 

Chris had the better angle and upon seeing who the person was, he quickly scooted closer to Tom so that their legs were touching, and grabbed Tom’s right hand in his. He held it so that Tom’s right arm was tucked beneath Chris’s left arm, their clasped palms rested on his bent knees. Tom sat frozen, not breathing, his hand feeling hot. 

“Are you okay with this?” Chris whispered, brushing his thumb over Tom’s knuckles.

Tom swallowed. “Yes. Is it Mr. Shaw?”

Chris nodded. Tom leaned back slightly and peeked behind Chris’s head and saw Mr. Shaw talking on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette. Just as Mr. Shaw was turning their way, Tom yanked his head back and squeezed Chris’s hand, a reflex action. He felt like his pulse was in his throat. He kept his eyes shut. He focused on his breathing as Chris brought their hands up and rested them against his chest, folding his other hand over their entwined ones. Tom figured it was more of a show for Mr. Shaw but he was comforted by the gesture nonetheless. The back of his hand was pressed against a well-defined pectoral, the beat of Chris’s heart steady just underneath.

A few seconds passed before Chris whispered, “He’s gone.”

Tom let out the breath he’d been holding in, his fingers relaxing in Chris’s grip. 

Chris chuckled, hanging on to Tom’s hand. “He looked pissed.”

Tom laughed, a little nervously at first. Before he knew it, he was laughing so hard, tears came to his eyes. He shook silently next to Chris, the force of his laughter sudden and welcome. He covered his mouth with his free hand at the end, catching his breath. Chris was smiling, staring at him. He looked down and rubbed at his eyes, self-conscious but still amused. The whole situation was too bizarre. 

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” he said into the palm of his hand. Chris nodded, his thumb grazing the corner of his hand. They sat like that for a few minutes, the shade keeping them cool. “We should go back in,” he said after a moment.

Chris sighed. “Yes, I suppose.” He released Tom’s hand, which Tom clenched, missing the warmth already. They stood and brushed off their pants. 

The rest of their lesson passed without incident and he and Chris were able to finish the last assignment on time. They handed their papers to Mr. Shaw, who had his jaw set, but grudgingly let them leave once he saw their answers were correct. As Chris walked to the door, Mr. Shaw tapped Tom’s shoulder. Tom turned around and Shaw leaned in a bit, saying, “You think I don’t know a ruse when I see one?” His gaze flicked over Tom’s shoulder, no doubt at Chris. “Nice try.” He smiled tightly and walked around the side of his desk, sitting down in his chair, ignoring Tom. 

Tom stared at Mr. Shaw’s retreating back and felt an emotion he wasn’t used to experiencing. Rage. He hesitated one second before spinning around, grabbing Chris’s hand and pulling him from the classroom. He marched down the hall, Chris elongating his steps to keep up with him.

“What did he say?”

Tom could feel his teeth grind together as he struggled to control this giant emotion in his chest. How dare he, he thought. What gave him the right? He pushed through the front door and pulled Chris over to the side of the building, the shade nearly nonexistent in the hour before noon. He tried releasing Chris’s hand but Chris kept his grip on Tom’s fingers.

“What did he tell you?”

Tom ran his free hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Turning to Chris, he asked, “Can we go somewhere?”

Chris nodded. “Okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a little treat! Since I thought Chapter 6 was a bit short, I'm posting Chapter 7 today.
> 
> Guys, I've been receiving such awesome feedback. Thank you so much for your comments and support!

Chris shouldn’t have left Tom near Shaw, even for those few seconds after they turned in their assignments. He should have known Shaw would take any opportunity to say something to Tom. Now, Tom was looking at him with wide eyes full of question, asking to go somewhere. His light blond brows were slightly furrowed, a little wrinkle forming in the delicate skin between.

“Okay,” he said, wanting to get Tom away and also hear what Shaw told him. He didn’t let go of Tom’s hand and Tom didn’t protest. In fact, his long thin fingers were curled around his own, gripping softly. At his car, they let each other go and Tom walked around to his side. Chris started the engine and they left the school. He was hungry and figured Tom would be the same.

“Wanna eat something?”

Tom, leaning back in his seat, had the window down. The breeze was playing with his hair and when he turned to Chris, his curls bounced softly against his forehead. He nodded and then stared out the window again.

He took them to a pizza parlor, which was surprisingly still empty. People would probably start coming in until after noon, sleeping through the morning. They sat at a booth in a corner, Chris’s car visible outside the window.

“Pepperoni good?”

Tom looked up from the menu and said, “Can we get mushrooms, too?”

Chris shrugged. “No problem.” He was about to get up to place their order when Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Chris shook his head. “No, it’s on me.”

Tom looked confused. “You paid last time. This one’s on me.” The look on his face left no room for argument, but he argued anyway.

“No.”

Tom pursed his lips and held his head to the side. “Chris.”

The way he said it, the eyebrows high, his arm angled out, the crisp bill held loosely between his fingers, made Chris give in. He sighed and took the money, the wide smile on Tom’s face worth it. Chris wished more than anything to see Tom happy like he was now, like he was back at the school under the tree, laughing with his head thrown back, tongue peeking out between his straight white teeth. “Stubborn,” he said as Tom leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling smugly in his small victory.

Walking between the tables, Chris waited in line behind an elderly couple. Taking a look around the restaurant, he glanced back at Tom and saw him fiddling with a napkin, folding it into neat squares. After placing the order, adding two sodas, he returned to the table and gave Tom his change.

“Didn’t know what you wanted. So I got us both orange soda.”

“That’s perfect, actually.” Tom pulled the cup toward him, moving the straw between his lips. His cheeks hollowed slightly as he sucked the bright orange liquid into his mouth. Chris was riveted, gripping his own cup. Forcing his gaze out the window, he cleared his throat and then turned back to Tom.

“So. What did he say to you?”

Tom’s gaze flicked from Chris to the window and back again. He looked down at his cup, smearing the drops of condensation with his thumbs.

“He said, and I quote, ‘You think I don’t know a ruse when I see one? Nice try.’ Then he looked at you and turned away.” He paused, glaring down at the table. “I mean, it is suspicious that the minute he starts hitting on me, I suddenly get a boyfriend.” He shook his head. “I haven’t had one for the three years I’ve been at school.” And then more quietly, to himself, but Chris still heard. “I haven’t had one ever.”

Something rose in Chris’s chest, a feeling of deep longing. Tom had no idea of it, but Chris was beginning to understand.

“We just try harder,” he heard himself saying, picking apart the paper sleeve his straw had come in, shredding it into a pile gathered between them on the table.

“Well,” Tom said, sighing. “We’ve only just begun. Maybe we should stop and forget the whole thing.”

Chris’s head snapped up. That feeling of elation that was beginning to make his chest tight with happiness suddenly quelled at Tom’s words. Despite his strong desire to explore something more with Tom, he really believed they were doing the right thing in trying to discourage Shaw. That was the base of the matter, the fact that Tom was the subject of Shaw’s inappropriate attention. He sat up and leaned in toward Tom.

“Do you want this to continue? Do you want him to think it’s okay to go after you? Don’t you want to it to stop?”

Tom leaned his head against his fist and looked at Chris. “Yes, of course I do. Especially after…” But he stopped and looked down, a furious blush creeping up his neck.

Chris frowned. “After what, Tom?”

Shaking his head, Tom rubbed his fingers against his brows. At that moment, one of the servers brought over their pizza, steaming and wafting a delicious aroma that set Chris’s senses blazing. But before that, he intended to hear what Tom was about to say.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured to the server. He sat staring at the pizza while Chris stared at him.

“After what?” Chris repeated to Tom, who crossed his arms and leaned back, trying to add distance between himself and Chris’s pointed stare.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. I can’t.”

Chris sighed. “Do I have to go over there and tickle it out of you?”

Color burst over Tom’s face. “Please don’t,” he whispered, but with a look that was both open and slightly curious, as if he wasn’t averse to the idea, but maybe that it would be too intimate for such a public place.

“Well?” Chris prompted and when Tom still hesitated, he made a move to stand.

Tom jumped and said, “He tried to kiss me.” His eyes were wide, never leaving Chris’s gaze, his hands splayed out over the top of the table.

Chris froze, halfway up. He slowly sank back down in his seat and gaped at Tom. “What?” he finally said. “When?"

Tom shrugged. “The second time he kept me after class.”

“But he didn’t kiss you, right?”

“No. He was leaning in and I panicked, knowing no one was around. I was all alone. I just ran out of there. Ran straight home.”

“Jesus,” Chris said, rubbing his face. The pizza lay forgotten between them, still hot.

“I haven’t told anyone that,” Tom whispered. He looked younger when he said that, picking at a cuticle, eyes downcast.

Chris stretched forward and touched his fingertips to Tom’s hand. “Hey, thank you for trusting me.”

Tom smiled kindly and nodded. Then a grin broke out over his face. “Although you did threaten me.”

“Ah, wasn’t much of a threat. There would have been way too much laughter for anything to be said.”

Tom laughed, his eyes crinkling and his tongue peeking just behind his teeth. Veins along his neck stood out when he was this carefree. Chris’s fingertips twitched.

“Shall we?” Tom said, indicating to the pizza. It was pre-sliced and they each grabbed a piece. Their paper plates were smeared with grease by the time they finished it. Tom was rubbing his flat belly and looking ready to pass out. Chris could honestly eat more.

They left the restaurant just as more people started to arrive. In the car, Chris let the car idle for a minute. “Is there anywhere else you wanna go? I’m not that excited about heading home.”

Tom chuckled and thought for a moment. “Um, how about—oh, never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“Well, maybe we can go to the bookstore at the mall? I’ve been meaning to get a book for a play we’re doing once school starts and the owner told me he would be receiving it this week.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Chris put the car in gear and backed out of the space. During the drive, Chris asked Tom about the play.

“It’s _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ by Shakespeare. I was thinking of trying for Oberon, but I don’t think I fit his character very well. My drama instructor actually encouraged me to go for the role of Puck.”

Chris didn’t know who these characters were but he was genuinely interested because Tom was so excited about them. “Who is Puck?”

“He is like an elf that causes a lot mischief. From what I read in the play before, it’s unclear if he does things deliberately or just because he isn’t mindful of the other characters. I want to pick up a copy and read through it again.”

When he spoke of acting and drama, Tom’s face opened as he rarely saw it do. He used his hands a lot when he spoke, his words flowing so smoothly once he had a topic to go on. Chris tried to watch as much as he could without making their drive unsafe.

“And Oberon?”

“He is the king of the fairies. He and Puck are very close and friendly. Oberon often dispatches Puck on certain errands, which he then tends to improvise.” Tom laughed. “Anyway, I’d like to try for Oberon, but I’m thinking I will most likely get Puck.”

Chris’s mind was lit with images of Tom up on the stage, portraying a mischievous sprite, grinning and reveling in the chaos he seemed to cause. He imagined him lurking low to the ground, moving smoothly among the other characters.

“Sounds like a good time, then. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Yes, I’m excited.”

The mall was packed with people, as usual. He parked outside one of the major department stores. There were less cars here than by the entrance through the food court. Tom’s long legs let him keep stride with Chris, his height a trait of Tom’s that he liked. Weaving their way through the crowds, Tom led Chris to the bookstore on the second floor.

Bright lights cast harsh glares upon first walking in, but Chris kept close to Tom as he wound his way behind the first two floor-to-ceiling shelves, seeming to know his way around. They came to a section titled Drama and Tom sank to a knee, running a long finger across the spines of the books on the bottom shelf.

“They definitely restocked. They have more of his work than last time,” Tom murmured. Chris got the idea that he came here a lot. Feeling awkward just standing there, he bent low and sat on the carpeted floor next to Tom, who looked at him in surprise. He smiled after a moment and situated himself next to Chris, crossing his legs in front of him. They faced the shelves and both stared up to the ceiling, taking in the towering bookcase in front of them.

“You don’t get claustrophobic, do you?” Tom whispered.

“No,” Chris whispered back. Then, “Why are we whispering?”

Tom laughed quietly. “No reason. I guess because it’s a bookstore.”

“Yeah, but not a library.”

Still, they kept their voices low as they talked to each other, Chris leaning his weight on his elbows. He twisted slightly, getting more comfortable, and his knee came to rest warmly against Tom’s, who glanced up from the book he was skimming, but said nothing. Chris was happy to just lean back on his palms and listen as Tom recited lines under his breath. But as he closed his eyes and let his head hang back, another voice caught his ear, a voice a few aisles over. His blood ran cold when he recognized Shaw’s voice, talking with someone he assumed worked at the bookstore. They talked together for a few moments and the clerk mentioned a book he thought Shaw would be interested in. Chris straightened quickly. Still leaning on his palm closest to Tom, he turned in and buried his face in Tom’s neck.

Tom froze, already moving his head to get a better look at Chris. “What are you--?”

Chris raised his hand to the other side of Tom’s neck to hold him steady. “Shh. Go with it, okay? Trust me.”

Appearing to have stopped breathing, Tom nodded numbly and closed his eyes, his mouth parting as Chris kissed him just below his ear. He let his thumb trail down Tom’s throat, running soft circles at the tender hollow between his collar bones, the pulse strong and accelerated under the smooth skin. Chris, his mind screaming at finally touching Tom how he’d desired for days, still attempted to stay focused as he peeked behind Tom’s head to where he believed Shaw and the clerk would appear any second. He pushed his nose into the blond curls at the base of Tom’s neck, kissing softly, nearly moaning aloud when Tom made a small noise in the back of his throat. Tom moved closer, brushing his cheek more firmly against Chris’s. His mouth was so close to Chris’s ear, his hitched breath tickled him. Pushing his desire down, Chris closed his eyes just as he saw shoes step around the corner.

“Here we are. Excuse us, boys. Just need to grab a book from this shelf above you.”

Tom and Chris broke apart, looking up at the clerk, who smiled kindly down at them. He was an elderly man with glasses perched on his nose. He hitched them higher up the bridge of his nose and squinted at the books before him. Chris and Tom scooted over to the side, Tom pressed more firmly against the side shelves with Chris between him and the clerk, who was standing on tiptoe. Chris made it a point not to look at Shaw, but he knew it was him, could feel him standing there, feet away, as he waited for the clerk to get the book. Instead he twined his fingers with Tom’s and plucked the book from his lap with his free hand, casually skimming through the pages, reading nothing.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Avery,” Tom said, face red, bringing his knees up and cradling their clasped hands against his stomach. Judging from the slight tremor Chris could feel radiating down Tom’s arm, he figured he had finally seen Shaw.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Avery gasped, his fingers straining to reach. Chris released Tom’s hand and jumped up, relishing in the few inches he had over Shaw, who he saw was pointedly staring down the aisle in the opposite direction.

“Can I help you with that?” he said, coming to stand next to the struggling clerk.

“Oh thank you, young man. Yes, please. It’s the third one on the left.”

Collecting the book with ease, he passed it to Mr. Avery, who nodded gratefully, saying, “Thank you, thank you.”

There was no avoiding looking at Shaw now. He nodded to him and said, “Hey, Mr. Shaw,” but Shaw ignored him entirely, taking the book from the clerk. He was turning to leave with the clerk when he looked at something behind Chris. Tom had stood up.

“Hi, Tom,” Shaw said, a little breathlessly, a smile in his voice. Chris clenched his jaw, hands curling into fists. But it was Tom who ignored him this time, letting his blue eyes skim over Shaw and land on Chris’s face. He felt Tom’s fingers glide over his fist. He opened his palm and Tom slipped his hand into his, pulling him down the other side of the aisle. Looking back at Shaw, Chris saw that the rejection had turned his face bright red.

“See you in the morning, Mr. Shaw,” Chris said good- naturedly, pulled along by Tom. Shaw cast a livid stare his way, but Chris turned from him before he could say anything and rounded the corner.

Tom was shaking his head and rubbing his forehead, turning in small circles like he couldn’t stand still. Squinting through the spaces between the shelves, he tried to see if Shaw had left. He turned around and faced Chris, who stepped close. “Easy,” he murmured, touching his hands to Tom’s waist.

“What are the fucking odds?” Tom said, his voice low, groaning into his hands.

Chris’s eyebrows rose at hearing Tom curse, but he didn’t mind it in the least.

“No kidding. But I figured I should pretend like nothing was wrong so he doesn’t have more of a reason to fail us.” He managed to hold Tom still by tightening his fingers on his hipbones, hoping this contact was okay with Tom.

Tom blanched and Chris froze, worried he had overstepped his bounds, but Tom grabbed his forearms and said, “You really think he would? My God, I didn’t even think about that.” He bit his bottom lip, his eyes glazed over a bit, obviously thinking about the massive repercussions a failed grade would cause his academic standings.

Eying that bitten lip, Chris leaned in, sensing he was losing him. “Listen, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to worry you. Let’s just leave and-.”

“Wait,” Tom said, throwing his hands down. Chris stopped speaking. Tom leaned back against the shelf and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Chris frowned. “For what?” 

“I don’t know…I just am.” He hesitated, looking up at Chris, his blond eyelashes clumped in long spikes. “I was bad, wasn’t I? I’ll be more natural next time. He probably doesn’t believe me for sure now.”

“Hey, you were fine. Trust me.” He paused. “We can work on it.” 

Figuring they were alone in the store, Chris stepped closer. Tom’s eyes widened immediately and he shuffled as far back as he could go, his back pressed against the hard line of the shelf behind him. Chris followed him step by step.

“Are you okay?” 

A shaky nod. “Yeah.”

Chris smirked and leaned in slowly, Tom following his every move. “You’re skittish,” he whispered, breath tickling his cheek. “You don’t have to be. Not with me. Yes?”

Tom nodded, fascinated with the stubble growing along his jaw.

Long pale, trembling fingers slowly rose to wind around his forearms. Knowing if their plan was to work to get Shaw’s attention off Tom, they needed to convince him. Problem was, Tom was so inexperienced that he stumbled through reactions other people would have breezed through. Chris found it highly endearing and incredibly attractive. But since they were now “together”, they should be more comfortable with each other, and he explained as much to Tom.

“When I reach to touch you, it will surprise people if you jump or appear startled. You have to get used to me. My touch, my presence. As my boyfriend, I will want to touch you. A lot. If that makes you uncomfortable in public, I understand. I will keep it to hugging or hand holding or small things like that. But maybe we should practice a bit more to ease you into the idea of what it is like to have a relationship with someone.” Tom gulped, listening intently to what Chris said. “Otherwise, someone like Shaw will see right through this. He already has his suspicions.” He ducked his head a little lower, trying to look at Tom directly. “Okay?”

Their whispers bounced quietly in the far corner of the bookstore where they had retreated. Tom took another shaky breath and nodded, his fingers tightening on Chris’s forearms. “Yes, okay. I’m sorry.”

Smiling, Chris shook his head. “You apologize too much.”

A grin broke over Tom’s face, his body losing some of its tension. A small hiccup of laughter came from his mouth. “Sorry.”

Deciding on the spot that this was a good time to start, Chris leaned in slowly, making his intention very clear. Feeling the tightness return to Tom’s stance, he braced his hands on the small of his back, pulling him in, their bellies and chests flush. “Hold still,” he murmured, as he touched his lips to Tom’s, finally. Tom’s lips were stiff and closed, his hands clenched tightly against Chris’s forearms. After a few seconds Tom’s entire body relaxed against Chris and his lips softened, hands uncurling and shakily climbing to rest against his shoulders.

The kiss, while close-lipped, made his heart pound, drowning out all other sound. Chris pulled away first, taking in Tom’s reaction. Breathing heavily, Tom opened his eyes dazedly, lips pink, fingers trembling on his back.

“How was that?”

Tom blinked and nodded.

Chris laughed softly. “Not going to faint on me now?”

Tom laughed, too. He drew himself up and put his hands on Chris’s chest, pushing back gently, a little bit of fire showing in his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Chris loved seeing Tom like this, playful and open. The most uninhibited he’d seen him was today under the tree. This was a close second.

Tom paid for the book and they left the store, Mr. Avery calling out a cheery farewell. In the car, when Tom was not looking, Chris reached over and held his hand. Tom jumped and turned to Chris, eyes wide.

“Relax,” he said, squeezing his fingers, smiling across the seat. He backed out of the lot and turned toward home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to wish my good friend, Viviana, a very happy birthday! *squishes your face*

The space was cozy enough that their arms weren’t extended too far or awkwardly. Tom reminded himself to breathe evenly, his hand so warm where Chris cradled it in his between their seats. This was good, though. Chris was right. He couldn’t be surprised by the contact. To outside people, his reactions probably looked something akin to fear, but it was the farthest thing from that. He desired Chris’s touch, but he desperately wanted to control his reactions. It was, frankly, alarming to get used to. Not only had he never been touched in this way before, but it was with a person only pretending to like him. That was going to be a hard line to toe, as Tom had trouble with dishonesty. He hoped he could be convincing enough for Mr. Shaw to leave him alone without overstepping his ability to stay emotionally unattached.

He had nodded when Chris told him to relax, easing back into his seat, but his pulse was still racing. It didn’t help that Chris was rubbing his thumb in small circles over Tom’s knuckles. 

“So. Your house or mine?”

Tom nearly choked. “What?” he sputtered.

A wide smile greeted him, eyes dancing with laughter. “For our homework? Do you want to go to my house or yours?”

Tom knew Chris was only joking, but he blushed with embarrassment. “Oh. I forgot about that actually. Your house is fine.”

He could feel Chris watching him after he stopped at a red light. “Tom, I wasn’t making fun of you. I was only teasing a bit.”

He said nothing for a moment, then, “I know. I need to get used to things like this. I don’t like that about myself, either.”

“I never said I didn’t like it. In fact, I think it’s very sweet. You can blush all you want. I’m sorry if my teasing offended you.” 

“It didn’t,” he said quietly. “I’m trying.”

Chris smiled and squeezed his hand. “I know you are.”

***

By the end of that first week, Tom was much more acclimated to Chris and his frequent touches. It was still alarming at times. Like when they would walk into class in the morning, Chris sometimes had his arm over the back of Tom’s neck, so casual and familiar, an easy weight. Other times when it was too hot, instead of going outside for their ten-minute break, they would walk down the hall and sit on the benches just inside the doorways, watching funny YouTube videos on Chris’s phone, their heads bent together over the little screen. Their laughter would echo down the empty hallway until they reluctantly had to go back to class. 

Chris liked to place his leg just directly in front of Tom’s leg, his calf resting on Tom’s shin, his foot planted just between Tom’s feet. They would sit like that at the benches, outside on the rails, even in class, although they weren’t nearly close enough for it to have the same effect. Still, Chris would stretch his leg out and keep it there. 

It was difficult to say just how Mr. Shaw was taking this new display of affection. They were never blatant about it, so there was no reason for him to report them for inappropriate behavior. Just subtle things, like when Chris would reach over and brush a curl from Tom’s forehead before they sat down at the beginning of the lecture, or how softly he’d touch his neck as they left class every day. 

In fact, Tom was having trouble hiding just how much he enjoyed Chris’s touch, how he missed it when they weren’t together. He would come home after a day with Chris and practically sink to his bed, stripping off his clothes, fingers searching along his skin. Imagining it was Chris pressing into his hips, Chris seeking, Chris pushing, Chris moaning, instead of him. How amazing his weight must feel, Tom thought, imagining propped up over him, ducking down to catch his lips. One time, he reached down past his straining cock, sliding his fingers over his sack and tentatively pressed along his opening. The reaction was instantaneous, his wanting more of it. His eyes closed and he caught the groan before it spilled from his mouth, lifting his head to see his hand moving low. He’d wanted to push a finger in, wanted to feel, even if by a tiny fraction, what it might be like with Chris inside him. But he’d snatched his hand back and let his head fall to the bed, breathing hard. 

After two weeks, he was leaning into Chris when his arm was around him, reaching for his hand, absentmindedly circling his fingers around Chris’s elbow as he wrote a quick text to a fellow drama student. They hadn’t kissed again since the bookstore. Tom was beginning to feel desperate for another chance to feel Chris’s lips against his. But the opportunity never arose, at least not one that would deem a kiss necessary. They never wanted to be too bold on school grounds, as they felt Mr. Shaw would use any excuse to have them separated or punished in some way. Tom figured Chris did it that first time to prove a point, to show Tom he needed to relax around him. 

The other three students in the class hardly reacted to their apparent relationship, apart from a few obvious stares at the beginning. There were other gay couples at their school, so it wasn’t so much a new thing to witness. What Tom was worried about were the reactions to him and Chris being together. He doubted anyone cared about him, if anyone even knew him at all, apart from his drama classmates and some teachers he was friendly with. But Chris was a popular athlete. He didn’t want any negative repercussions to affect Chris. Looking at Chris though, driving back to his house, the wind playing with some flyaway strands of blond hair, Tom knew Chris would handle it better than he did. He always handled things better. 

“What are you thinking about?” Chris asked, catching Tom staring at him.

Tom turned to the window, comfortable enough in Chris’s presence now that he didn’t blush as easily when they were alone. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Tom,” Chris said, a playful warning in his tone. He still insisted Tom apologized too often. 

They were headed to Chris’s house to get started on their homework. Quickly establishing a routine, they would take turns doing their assignments at each other’s houses. Chris’s parents tended to leave them alone, having greeted Tom politely and kindly, inviting him to dinner, and asking questions about his interests and plans after high school. In hindsight, Tom felt welcomed and comfortable in Chris’s home, even if he thought his parents were a bit aloof. 

“They’re like that,” Chris said, when Tom voiced his opinion. “They’re both doctors and I think it’s just how they’ve always been. They never intrude too much in my life and I make sure to stay on track so they don’t start bugging me about things.” He laughed. “They like you. They told me.”

“Really? I liked them, too.”

They’d agreed to appear as just friends in front of their parents, even though Chris assured him his parents wouldn’t mind if they told them they were in a relationship. “They are very open-minded.”

Tom had shrugged. “It just seems like there would be major repercussions for something that we’re only playing at.” 

Chris had stayed quiet, staring out the car window. 

Tom thought of his own conversation with his parents and his confession that he liked Chris. He had warned his mother ahead of time that Chris would be coming over more frequently to do homework. 

“That’s fine, love. Your father and I don’t have a problem with that.” She paused, wiping down the counter. “Have you asked him yet?”

“No, mom. We’re just friends.”

Now, with three weeks left of summer school, he and Chris were becoming much more comfortable around each other, even if pretending to fake his very real feelings was beginning to wear on him. 

After school, they would often go to the bookstore at the mall, where Mr. Avery would allow them to hang out and read as much as they wanted. Actually, Chris usually sat with Tom while Tom read, but he was a great listener, something that Tom appreciated in him. They would retreat to the corner where Chris had kissed him that first time, which now seemed so long ago. He would begin reading, sometimes reciting something to Chris that made a particular impact on him. Chris would ask questions, while other times he would stretch out along the floor where Tom sat and fall asleep, the crown of his head nudged gently against Tom’s thigh. 

Chris was still doing self-training in preparation for basketball tryouts. He would run in the evening when he and Tom finished their assignments and go to the school to lift weights on the weekends. Sometimes, he met with his teammates and played basketball for hours at the school courts. What he and his teammates talked about, Tom didn’t know, but he was sure that there had to be rumors circulating already. Only the three students in his class knew for sure, but he and Chris had been everywhere together for most of the summer. If there was anything Tom was positive about, it was the high school students knew how to put two and two together. 

Mr. Shaw seemed to have backed off for the moment. He and Chris still posed as being together, but Shaw seemed to be determinedly ignoring them and avoiding eye contact when he collected their papers. Tom was beginning to relax and believed that perhaps the worst was behind them. It really did seem like a mild panic on his part when he looked back on it. 

Upon arriving at Chris’s house, they went up to his room. Tom flopped down on the floor and leaned back against the bed. Chris took his desk chair and opened his laptop. 

“Shit,” Chris mumbled to himself and Tom looked up at him. 

“Is everything okay?”

Chris sighed and closed his computer. “It’s stupid. My cousin has been emailing me about his mom’s wedding, set for next weekend. Obviously, plans have been going on for a while, but I hardly paid any attention. I was hoping I could skip it, but I guess my mom’s been talking with his mom and we’re leaving next Thursday.”

Tom suddenly understood. “You’re going to miss the last two days?”

“Well, just Friday. We leave Thursday night.”

Tom nodded, absentmindedly fiddling with the pencil he’d taken out of his backpack. Chris got off the chair and bent to sit by Tom. 

“Are you going to be okay?”

Tom looked down. The past five weeks had gone by so fast. He and Chris had risen to a place in their invented relationship where, even when they were alone, touching had become normal. Chris had never been more than a phone call away and more often than that, was a steady presence at Tom’s side. Now with only a week left, he would have to face Mr. Shaw on his own, at least for only a day. 

He nodded after a moment. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’ll be okay.” Quite honestly, he wanted to also say that he would miss Chris. But he couldn’t say that. It’s almost as if he was allowed to express his feelings in the small ways they touched each other, but that couldn’t be enough. 

Chris studied him, the late afternoon light slanting in through the window and reflecting in his hair. Tom could see the tiny blond bristles of the stubble growing along his jaw. He looked away. 

“Hey, I’ll be back on Monday. Last day means no homework,” Chris said, trying to make light of the situation. They sat quietly, staring at the wall opposite them, legs bent and touching at the knees.  
“You’re not thinking he’s going to try something, are you?” When Tom said nothing, he went on, “He hasn’t looked at us once in four weeks. What’s one more day?”

Tom shrugged, not entirely sure what to think. “It’s fine. Let’s not worry about it.” A buzzing sound made him jump. He fumbled for his phone and checked his message. “My dad. Says he’s throwing poison around the outside of our house.”

“Poison?”

Tom laughed, replying to the text, but addressing Chris. “Nothing so sinister. Just for insects and stuff. Says if I can stay away for a while.”

“Well good thing we have homework then. You can stay as long as you like.” 

They took out their homework and began studying.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the confusion! I didn't realize that saving a draft for later editing would look like a new chapter had been posted. Duly noted :) My mistake. Again, very sorry.

Chris was worried. This wedding couldn’t have come at a worse time. Why did his aunt have to get married this weekend, and not the next? He didn’t want Tom to have to face Shaw alone, even if he knew he was quite capable of taking care of himself. Tom’s confidence had grown over the past month. He laughed more openly and didn’t jump as often when Chris reached for him. He was relaxed in his presence, blushing only a little if Chris took hold of his hand while at the bookstore or in the hallways at school. They would text all the time, confirming to Chris that Tom was more of a flirt when hiding behind technology. But was Tom flirting with him or just being himself? Chris was learning so much about him as he allowed more of himself to show. It was hard to tell, but Chris grew to relish the fiery wit Tom threw his way, feeling as if he were one of only a few people that Tom revealed this part of himself to. 

On the Wednesday of their last week, Tom was slightly withdrawn. He had text Chris the night before that he wasn’t worried and was glad summer school was almost over, which made Chris feel a little better about having to leave. But when Tom slid into the car that morning he looked pale and exhausted. 

“Sleep okay?” 

Tom shrugged. “Not really. Kept tossing and turning. That never happens.”

“It’s the last week. Probably just nerves.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Throughout their lecture, Chris noticed Shaw was stealing glances at Tom, but Tom was oblivious, resting his head on his closed fist, taking notes, most likely used to Shaw ignoring them to be concerned with him anymore. Which suited Chris just fine. He didn’t want Tom to worry about him. But it was evident Shaw still had some kind of thing for Tom with the way he peeked over every few seconds. 

During their break, Tom kept close to Chris and asked if they could go outside rather than stay in the hallways. Chris obliged him, knowing he would do practically anything to make Tom happy, to make him as comfortable as he could. 

They sat under the big oak at the front of the school during their break, tearing at the grass at the base of their folded legs. It was particularly warm out and Tom’s cheeks were pink from the heat. 

Chris noted that his eyes were unfocused as he gazed into the middle distance. Putting his hand on his knee, he roused him from wherever he’d been in his mind. “Tom? Are you okay?” 

Tom blinked and slowly shifted his eyes to Chris. He smiled, his eyes clearing. “I am. I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep very well.”

Wondering what had kept him awake, Chris only nodded and they spent the rest of their break in silence, Tom’s hands limp in his lap. 

They went to Chris’s house after school. When they entered his room, Tom asked if he could get a glass of water.

“Sure, of course. I’ll be right back.” He left the room as Tom took a seat on his bed, slowly setting his backpack on the floor. When Chris returned, he stopped dead in the doorway. Tom was lying on his side, feet still planted on the floor, fast asleep. Setting the glass of water down quietly on his dresser, Chris walked over and peered down at him. His head was nestled on Chris’s pillow and there was a slight frown on his brow. How many times had Chris imagined Tom sleeping in his bed and now here he was? 

Tom’s arms rested limply on his twisted torso, his chest rising and falling steadily. Resisting the urge to reach down and touch his hair, Chris bent low and slowly lifted Tom’s legs so he lay fully on the bed. Tom fidgeted and burrowed deeper into the pillow but didn’t wake. 

As quietly as he could, Chris gathered their homework and sat on the floor by the edge of the bed, just inches from where Tom lay. Resting his back against the mattress, Chris bent low and started on their assignment. 

The shadows in his room slowly moved and before he knew it, a couple of hours had passed. He’d finished his and Tom’s work. Tom had only shifted once, his breathing slow and quiet, the back of his hand resting against Chris’s shoulder blade. Chris hadn’t moved it. 

He stretched, working the kink from his neck. Behind him, Tom stirred. He blinked a few times and then opened his eyes wide, sitting up in a hurry. “My god, I’m so sorry.” His voice was gravelly from sleep. 

Chris was glad he had papers and books on his lap to hide how much Tom’s voice affected him. Tom rubbed his face. “I guess I don’t do well when sleep deprived.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.”

Chris laughed softly. “It’s okay. You were tired.” He held up a finger as Tom was about to say something.

“And don’t you dare you’re sorry again.” Tom’s mouth snapped closed, a shy smile on his lips. 

“What time is it?”

“A little past six.”

Tom sat forward and searched his pockets for his phone. “I have it on silent.” He checked the screen. “Just a couple of text messages from my mom.” He smiled as he replied. “She’s used to me always being with you.”

Chris nodded, sweat beading on the back of his neck. His cock was slowly calming down but being this close to Tom, with the shadows low in the room, Tom’s sleepy face and bed head, it was all so intimate and he feared his desire could get to a point where he couldn’t hide it. He struggled to find something to say.

“I did our homework.”

Tom looked up from his phone. “What? All of it?” 

“Yeah. It was no biggie.”

“Chris...” Tom shook his head. “Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem, and I owe you from how much you’ve helped me. I also emailed Shaw to arrange to take my final test Thursday after class.”

Tom nodded and then after a moment, he stood. “I should go.” Chris scrambled up and handed Tom his notebook. He walked him to the door and Tom turned to him. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“No problem. Anytime.”

They parted at the driveway and Chris watched as Tom walked down the street, backpack hanging from one shoulder. 

***

When Tom slid into the car Thursday morning, he looked even more pale and exhausted. He greeted Chris quietly and then rolled his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. Chris studied him as he drove. The way his head lolled gently against the headrest, Tom was looking a little dazed. Had he not slept again?

“Tom?”

He barely stirred. “Yes, Christopher?” he whispered. 

Chris pulled over into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and killed the engine. He turned in his seat and watched as Tom slowly lifted his head to look around. “Why did you stop?”

“What’s wrong?” 

Tom shrugged and sat up, rubbing his back slowly against the seat, as if trying to scratch an itch. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just not feeling too well.” 

It was true. His eyes were half-open, drowsy. Sweat spotted his brow. “Want me to take you home?”

“Oh, no. It’s not that bad. I just need to a moment to fully wake up. I’ll be fine. Really.”

Chris narrowed his eyes at Tom, trying to wait him out, but Tom insisted. “Really, I’m okay. Let’s just go.” When Chris didn’t budge, Tom said, “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like….Just forget it. Can we go?” They had a staring contest until Tom finally looked down, his fingers pulling at a loose string on his backpack.

Chris turned the ignition. “You’re not getting skittish on me again, are you?”

Tom smirked and looked out the window. “Not possible with you.”

They arrived at the school and started their lesson, Chris still not convinced that Tom was okay. He didn’t think it had anything to do with Shaw, as that situation seemed to have calmed down a bit. Was he getting sick? It wasn’t uncommon to get a cold in the middle of summer. It had happened to him a couple of times. Still, he kept a close eye on Tom, nudging his foot when he caught him staring absentmindedly out the window. He made a questioning face, but Tom just shook his head and resumed taking notes. Every few minutes, Shaw took quick glances in Tom’s direction and Chris became bothered by it. Shaw was still into Tom. Chris had known he was getting more protective of him, but today in particular Shaw's attention was becoming unbearable.

Looking at Tom closely, he noticed he was still sweating. Not profusely, but his skin had a light sheen coating it. Periodically, Tom reached up and rubbed at his eyes. When Shaw announced their ten minute break Chris jumped up. He grabbed Tom’s hand and pulled him out of the class, down the hallway and onto the benches by the double doors leading out to the grounds. It was cool and shadowed there, quiet and private. Tom sank heavily onto the bench. “What’s the rush?” he said, no strength in his voice. Chris sat beside him, his leg moving over Tom’s shin, anchoring it close. 

“What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Chris. I just feel sick. It’s probably nothing. After class I can go home and sleep.”

Already he was resting his head back, eyes closing. After a moment, his weight leaned into Chris and his head rolled down to rest on his shoulder. “Can I close my eyes for a few minutes, Christopher?”

His voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear him, but he was already napping before Chris could respond. He reached over and took Tom’s hand, cradling it between his two and waited the ten minutes before he needed to wake him. 

He sat in the silent hall, watching as dust motes caught and flurried in the sunbeams coming in through the windows. At one point, he thought Tom had woken up, feeling him clench his hand, but he slept on, brows furrowed with worry, even in sleep. Chris relaxed back against the wall and slowly angled his head to rest it on Tom’s. His blond curls were soft against his cheek. 

Checking his watch, Chris squeezed Tom’s hand and shook his shoulder gently.

“Hey, we have to go back now.” Tom moved his cheek against Chris’s shoulder, and lifted his free hand to rub his eyes. He sat up and nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. Pushing to his feet, Tom swayed a little and Chris stepped close to steady him. “Sorry. Still asleep,” he said, but Chris didn’t entirely believe that. He took Tom’s hand, just in case. Back in class, Tom went to his desk. Two students were still missing so Chris took the opportunity to approach Shaw.

“Hey, Mr. Shaw. Thanks again for letting me take my exam today.” He motioned back to Tom, who was scribbling on a piece of paper. “Tom isn’t feeling too good right now. Would it be alright if I took him home and then came back to take my test?” 

Shaw looked over his shoulder and his eyes narrowed in concern. “I thought he was looking a bit ill today.” Chris thought there was a touch too much desperation in his tone. He swallowed, putting a similarly concerned look on his face, pushing his anger back. “Yeah. He wasn’t himself this morning and it’s gotten worse since.”

Shaw nodded, not once taking his eyes off Tom. “Okay, yes. You can take him now, if you’d like. If he’s feeling better tomorrow, he can come in to take the exam any time before 3pm. That’s when I leave.”

Chris fought his surprise. Tom could come in whenever? Bastard has it bad, he thought. “Great, thanks. I’ll be back right away.”

He went to Tom and whispered in his ear that they were leaving. “Why?” Tom whispered back, but Chris was already putting his papers and pencil in his backpack. He took his hand and they walked out.

“Chris, really. I’m okay. There’s no need—.” Chris stopped short and stared down at their hands. “What is it?” Tom asked.

Taking a step closer, Chris put the back of his hand against Tom’s cheek, noting his flushed skin. Tom’s eyes danced over his, the blue a bit glassy. 

“You have a fever.”

“I feel a bit warm, but it can’t be a fev--.”

“Thomas, my parents are doctors. I’m pretty sure I’ve been taught what a fever is.”

They continued walking. After another minute: “You’ve never called me Thomas before.”

“So? You call me Christopher sometimes.” Chris actually realized that Tom called him Christopher when he was only semi-conscious. Twice now, in the car and on the bench, he had been on the verge of falling asleep and had called him by his full name. 

“Does that bother you?”

“Actually, no. It doesn’t. Does it bother you?” 

Quietly, “No.”

“Okay, then.” 

Walking down the front steps, Tom tightened the grip on his hand and Chris slowed down a bit, hearing Tom’s heavy breaths. “Why,” Tom started, “does it feel like we just had our first argument?” He said it with a small smile, if a bit breathlessly, but Chris was happy he was still trying to at least make a joke.

“Guess we did. Wasn’t much, though, was it? We have to do better next time.”

“Deal.”

At the car, Tom climbed into the seat gingerly, as if his whole body was sore. “If I have the flu, I’m going to be so pissed.”

“What a scary sight that would be.”

“Shut it, you.” He leaned back and closed his eyes; his hands clasped together on his belly, flat and hollow with his short breaths. 

Little tremors swept through his body and he groaned when Chris put a hand on his chest, as if that little contact hurt him. 

“You’re shaking.” 

“Just…I just need to sleep. Please.” 

As he headed for Tom’s house, Chris watched the rise and fall of his chest, the long arch of his neck, the blond lashes. He was saying something. “What was that?”

Tom rolled his head toward him. “I said I hope you don’t catch it. I would feel awful if you got sick.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to get sick.” He brushed back some curls that were sticking to Tom’s forehead and Tom closed his eyes, almost in relief. 

“Will anyone be home?”

“No. But I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll stay with you.” 

Tom’s eyes popped open. “No, you have to go take your test. Besides, I’m just going to sleep.”

He pulled up at the curb and Tom sat up, wincing. He got out and ran around to Tom’s side of the car, where Tom was barely opening his door. Chris reached in and took his backpack and then held out his hand. Tom looked up, squinting in the bright sunlight. He grasped Chris’s hand and Chris pulled him out gently. They walked up the drive, Tom fishing for his keys in the pocket of his jeans. Climbing the stairs took longer than usual, Chris right behind him in case he fainted or something. Tom dumped his bag just inside his bedroom door and headed straight for the bed. He sat at the edge and seemed about ready to keel over like at Chris’s house, but Chris was at his side now, easing him down, pulling off his shoes. Tom cuddled into the pillow, curling his arms inward and somehow Chris’s hand was folded in with his, close to his chest. His hand trapped, Chris knelt by the bed and put his other hand on Tom’s forehead, the fever strong. He smoothed back his hair, heat radiating off his scalp. 

“Tom, don’t fall asleep yet. Okay?” Tom mumbled something. “Thomas, don’t fall asleep yet.”

“Yes, Christopher,” he murmured, teeth chattering softly, the shivers making him fold in on himself.

Chris slowly freed his hand from Tom’s grip, his heart dropping as Tom’s fingers curled over empty air. He cursed the timing. If it weren’t for the stupid test, he would gladly hop in that bed, curl up behind Tom and hold him until he felt better. Statistics grade be damned. He would skip class to hold hands with Tom any day. 

He went to the restroom and looked in the medicine cabinet. At the top was a bottle of Tylenol. He checked the milligrams and filled a cup of water from the sink in the kitchen. Checking the freezer, Chris found a small ice pack. He wrapped it in a clean dishtowel Mrs. Hiddleston kept folded in a cupboard. Rushing back, he was happy to see Tom was still awake, eyes hooded, staring at the wall. 

“You realize the amount of will it took me to keep my eyes open?” he croaked.

“Thank you. Drink this.” Tom managed to half sit, taking the tablets and grimacing when he swallowed them with water. Chris left the glass by his bedside, watching as Tom got comfortable again. He placed the towel-wrapped ice pack against Tom’s neck. Almost immediately, Tom groaned in relief, his hand rising and taking Chris’s wrist in his fingers, holding him there. 

“That…that feels amazing, Christopher.”

Chris swallowed.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Tom’s eyes were closing, but he nodded. 

“I’ll stop by after my test.” 

But Tom was already asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Tom felt a flare of pain so similar to the one the previous night. Only this time, he felt it at his shoulder rather than his lower back. That bright spark of fire pulled him from sleep, unlike last night, where his sleep had been so heavy he’d felt but quickly forgotten the sting that had woken him.

Now, he reached out, knowing Chris was right there. But his room was eerily quiet and the light felt wrong. He opened his eyes, surprised that he was alone. Hadn’t Chris been here just a moment ago?

He checked his phone and saw there was a message from Chris.

_“Just starting my test. Feeling better? I’ll call you when I’m out.”_

He sat up and felt the room spin. He clutched his stomach, afraid he was going to be sick. Grabbing his phone again, he text his mom, letting her know he was home. Once he felt his stomach calm a bit, he slowly lay down again, falling asleep.

**

Chris’s mind was split in half. The test before him bore familiar symbols and figures, equations he and Tom had studied so much of over the course of the summer. But he was having trouble concentrating. He’d text Tom before starting his test, but so far had received no reply.

After working on the last question’s formula for a few minutes, he calculated the answer and checked over the rest of the test. He rose from his seat and approached Shaw, who was flipping through folders in his desk’s drawer.

“All finished?”

Obviously. “Yeah. Wasn’t too bad.”

“With all that studying you and Tom did, I would hope so.”

Chris didn’t rise to the bait. “Anyways, thanks for letting me take the test early.” He turned and began gathering his things.

“Will he be okay to come in tomorrow?”

Chris clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell Shaw that he knew all about his infatuation with Tom, that he would beat the shit out of him right now if he didn’t think that Tom wouldn’t want him to do that. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “He’ll be okay. Probably the flu or something.”

“Will he take the test tomorrow?”

Chris had enough. “As far as I know, yes. I let him know just before I helped him to bed.” Not necessarily true, but he wasn’t about to argue a technicality. He watched as Shaw’s face flushed red. Turning, he waved and left the classroom.

He called Tom as he jogged to his car, but it went to voicemail.

“Hey, just leaving the school. Shaw was super concerned and asked if you were coming in tomorrow. I told him they were shipping you off to North Korea for experiments. Just kidding. How are you? I’ll be there in a bit. Bye.”

The drive to Tom’s house seemed longer than usual. It was weird driving there from this direction without Tom in the seat next to him. Parking his car, he noticed another vehicle in the driveway. Tom’s mom answered the door.

“Hi, Mrs. Hiddleston. I was just dropping by to see how Tom is doing?”

She smiled kindly at him. “He’s asleep right now. He text me earlier that you brought him home from school. Thank you for that. He’s still running a fever, but I’m hoping he can sleep it off.”

Chris nodded, worry sketching over his features. “I’m leaving in a bit for a family wedding. I’ll be back on Monday. I’ll check in with Tom later.”

“Okay, Chris. And thanks again for bringing him home. I’m so glad he has a friend like you.”

Chris nodded sheepishly and said his goodbye.

He was already packed and sat around in his room, waiting for his parents. He fiddled with his phone, tempted to text Tom, when the screen lit up with Tom’s number. He gasped and quickly answered it. “Hey.” His voice showed a bit more of his eagerness than he anticipated.

“Hi,” Tom said, voice breaking.

“Christ, you sound awful.”

A raspy noise came through the phone and Chris realized it was Tom laughing. He cradled the phone to his ear and fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I know. I’m sorry.” Silence. Then, “Mom told me you came by. I’m sorry I missed you. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open for very long.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me, too.”

They were quiet, the echoes of their whispers loud in Chris’s ears. Their conversation seemed laden with hidden meanings and he wished he were face to face with Tom at that moment.

“Have fun at the wedding,” Tom said, and the moment was gone.

Chris cursed silently, rubbing his eyes. “Thanks, I probably won’t.”

Tom laughed again, so softly. “If you get too bored, you can always text me.”

“I will.” He thought a moment. “Hey, tomorrow? Take the test in the morning, when the other students will be there. Okay?”

He could hear Tom breathing on the other end. “That stupid test. I’d forgotten about it.”

“Tom. Please.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Are you okay to take it? Maybe you can ask for an extension because you’re sick.” He didn’t add that at least then Chris could be with him, could at least be out in the hallway while he took it.

“No, I just want to get it over with.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Get plenty of rest. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thank you. Don’t die of ennui.”

He laughed. “God, I don’t even know what that means.”

“I’ll tell you when you get back.”

“Deal.”

“Bye, Christopher.”

“Bye, Thomas.” Chris ended the call only after hearing the line disconnect on Tom’s side. He rested his arm over his eyes, wanting the weekend to be over before it’d even begun.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is just a reminder that I will posting twice a week. Thank you to all those who have been so patient with me and who send me such encouraging and thoughtful messages :)

Tom didn’t know how he did it. Somehow, he dragged himself from bed and changed into something resembling decent. Stooping, he picked up the ice pack Chris had left for him where it had fallen to the floor, now warm and useless. He still felt hot and a bit dizzy, but he had to take this test. He finished the water on his side drawer and left the house, walking to school, pencil in hand. The ground seemed to be moving, a haze dancing above the pavement. There were no birds chirping or shade to be found anywhere. He willed himself to keep walking.

Chris was gone. It would be four days before he would see him again. No matter. He needed to get this test done, even if his body felt overheated, his shirt sticking to his skin, back itching like crazy. Maybe he should have checked in the mirror before he left, but he honestly was too determined to not fall over to try and see what the matter was with his back.

“Tom?”

Tom startled, not realizing he had arrived at school and entered the classroom.

Mr. Shaw looked up from where he was sitting behind his desk. There was no one else in the room.

Tom cleared his throat. “I thought I was on time.”

Shaw looked up at the clock. “It’s half past noon. The others students took the test already. But that’s okay. Have a seat and I will give you your copy.”

Tom was only vaguely aware that Mr. Shaw was talking. He frowned. Half past noon? He could have sworn he woke up on time. His skin prickled with slight apprehension, his mind buzzing with the knowledge that he and Mr. Shaw were in a room together, alone. He sank down into Chris’s usual chair, that small comfort helping his concentration.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mr. Shaw passed him his test and he nodded mutely, scribbling his name at the top.

His phone started buzzing in his pocket. He brought it out and saw the number. “Chris,” he murmured, his thumb hovering over the button to answer it.

Hearing him, Mr. Shaw turned back. “Tom, there are no cell phones during a test.”

Tom looked up and saw that Mr. Shaw was walking back up his aisle slowly. He quickly hit the End button, sending the call to voicemail. He turned it off and stuffed it back into his pocket. Chris probably thought he was finished with the exam by now. He probably wanted to see how he’d done, if he was home. Tom cursed himself. He didn’t understand how he could have gotten the time of day so confused. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, sending a silent apology to Chris.

As Mr. Shaw took another small step toward him, his senses struggled to sharpen against what he felt was a threat. He sat back and stared at a spot behind Mr. Shaw, waiting until he finally turned away and walked to his desk. He let out a silent breath, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

Honestly, he wasn’t worried about the test. He remembered practically everything about the material. It was putting it all in order that would be challenging. Double checking that Mr. Shaw was sitting at his desk, Tom bent over his paper and set to work. Numbers and formulas swam before his eyes and he blinked a few times to settle them.

It took him nearly two hours but he finished the exam. He made a move to stand, but felt shaky. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. He walked up to Mr. Shaw, who stood to greet him. He gave him his test and was turning to leave, when he felt Mr. Shaw’s hand on his elbow. He froze.

“Tom, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I don’t know how exactly to say this, but…listen, I really think that there might be something special going on here and, you know, considering that class is over now and won’t start again until--.” He paused, getting a good look at Tom’s face. Frowning, he lifted his hand the way Chris had the day before in the hallway when he had felt his face for fever. Tom’s eyes widened when he realized Mr. Shaw was intending to do the same and suddenly it became too much for him.

He took a step back, horrified at this action that symbolized a moment that reverberated in his memory as only belonging to Chris, but coming from…from _Shaw_. A wave of dizziness washed over him, making him stumble back. Mr. Shaw’s hand caught his arm, holding him steady, bringing him just a little too close.

“Tom, you don’t look too--.”

“Don’t,” Tom gasped, straining to see clearly. Mr. Shaw’s face swam in his vision and he blinked his eyes rapidly to clear it. Once everything was back in focus, Tom had a single second to breathe before something went dark in Mr. Shaw’s eyes and then he was leaning in toward him, hand tightening on his shoulder. Tom’s back stiffened and he tried bending backward to ward off Mr. Shaw’s advance. But Shaw’s grip was tight and his skin was so sore and sensitive and Chris would know this. Chris would be more careful. Chris wouldn’t hurt him.

“Shh, now, Tom. Enough of that. Don’t fight, now.”

“No,” he gasped, but as much as he scrambled back, Mr. Shaw followed him, until he was pressed up against one of the wide windows looking out onto the grounds. Mr. Shaw’s breath was hot on his cheek. He struggled to breathe, trying to angle his face away, his eyes catching on the strangest things. The limp flag in the corner, a chart with mathematical figures tacked to the wall, Chris’s desk.

A hard hand gripped his waist and squeezed, a leg pushed between his own, a thigh rose up toward his crotch.

“No! Stop!” he said again, desperation making his voice break. Mr. Shaw’s hand grasped his jaw and pushed his head to the side, exposing his neck.

“Finally, I have you, Tom,” he said, voice soft and oddly gentle. Tom’s hands became rigid, pushing back against Mr. Shaw’s insistent weight. “That boyfriend,” he said, spitting out the word, “is not here.”

There was a terrible pain in his back the harder Mr. Shaw pressed him to the window; two spikes of fire that rose and bit at his skin, over and over. White spots appeared before his eyes and he fought to stay conscious. Mr. Shaw was oblivious. “I’ve tried, Tom, to ignore you and forget about you. But there you went, hanging off that boy’s arm, teasing me. That’s okay.” He lowered his face to Tom’s neck, inhaling deeply, hand traveling down to his chest, rubbing. “I liked it.”

Tom anchored his hands against Mr. Shaw’s shoulders, trying in vain to push him off, to get him away. The way Mr. Shaw’s hips were pressing against his own, he felt bile rise in his throat. His frantic mind focused on an image of Chris. That day under the tree, the first time he held his hand, the way he stared at him, that small smile on his face, eyes flickering over Tom as he laughed freely, taking it all in. Chris would fight for him, Chris would fight Shaw off. Chris would fight.

In the blink of an eye, Tom had his fists clenched in Mr. Shaw’s shirt, pushing him back until they collided with the white board. The wall shook with the force of their impact. He barely registered the sound of markers falling to the floor.

Mr. Shaw’s mouth opened in surprise. “Tom!” His grip on Tom’s arms faltered.

Tom shoved his face close. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again. You are not the one I allow to touch me, do you understand? You will never be him. What gives you the right to think you can put your hands on me.” He pulled Shaw back and slammed him against the board a second time. “Touch me again and I’ll report your ass.”

Mr. Shaw’s eyes widened in incremental stages of shock. Tom released him and Mr. Shaw staggered to the left, catching himself on the silver tray beneath the white board. Tom, the world tilting before him, felt himself falling. A burning pain burst near his eye as his head clipped the nearest desk. He landed on his side. Catching himself on his arms, he focused on breathing, shallow, so shallow. He couldn’t get enough air in. Warmth flowed down his right temple, trickling and slow. Limbs shaking, he raised himself to his knees.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shaw take a hesitant step in his direction. He looked up; Shaw’s hand was held out. “Tom…”

He recoiled slightly, wheezing. “I said… _don’t_.”

He climbed to his feet because he had to. As much as he wanted to relax his body against that cool floor, close his eyes and give in to his pain, he didn't. He blinked away the fatigue he felt hovering at the edge of his consciousness. He needed to get out of there.

Unsteady and nauseous, Tom stood back, hand to his stomach, amazed at his own violent outburst. He turned and slowly made his way from the room, stumbling down the hallway and out into the sunlight.


	12. Chapter 12

The wedding turned out to be as unexciting as Chris had predicted. It was fun to see his cousins and spend time with his family, but he was worried about Tom. He’d called him Friday afternoon and got his voicemail. Chris convinced himself that Tom was resting and most likely had his phone on silent, as he tended to do, but worry still nagged at him.

All day Friday, Chris was busy helping with preparations and often wondered how Tom was doing. Had he made it to his test? Had someone been able to drive him in his condition? Chris scowled at the back of a pew in the church, oblivious to the happy atmosphere around him. He’d tried texting Tom Friday night, but no response. He bounced his heel on the floor, a jittery movement he did when nervous. The ceremony was long, but nice in an older person sort of way. Afterward, everyone headed to the country club for the reception. The night passed with dancing and food and drinks, Chris hanging out with his cousins or getting unwanted kisses from his older aunts. There was lots of champagne and women in frilly dresses, men standing uncomfortably in starched suits. He became bored with it all pretty quickly, especially as his main source of foremost affection and pleasure was not returning his text messages.

Around one in the morning, Chris was out on his hotel balcony, texting Tom again.

_“I never want to come to another wedding again.”_

Ten minutes passed and no response. In the pit of his stomach, Chris knew that something was wrong, no matter the late hour. Tom would have messaged him back sooner than now if something weren’t wrong. Remembering how ill Tom looked Thursday afternoon and the soft whisper of his voice on the phone just before he left, Chris made his decision. Going back into his room and out the door, he walked down the hall to his parents’ room. After the third knock, his dad answered. “Chris. We thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“Actually, dad, I was going to ask if it would be okay if I went back home tonight.”

His father frowned and opened the door wide so Chris could step in. “Is everything alright?” This is what he appreciated about his parents. They were not overbearing. They were analytical, reasonable thinkers who never overreacted, going to the root of a problem.

“Who is it, Craig?” he heard his mother say from the bathroom. She emerged rubbing some cream on her face and smiled when she saw Chris. His father closed the door and told his wife what Chris had told him.

She turned to him, concern on her face. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not sure. But I think one of my friends is really sick. When we left on Thursday, he was feeling awful. Now, he isn’t answering my messages or phone calls. And I’m worried. I would like to take my car home tonight.”

“Doesn’t he have people with him? Friends, family?”

“His parents, yes. But I’m really his only friend,” he said quietly.

“Is it Tom?” his dad asked.

Chris nodded. “I need to make sure he’s OK.”

His parents stayed quiet and looked from him to each other.

“Well, alright, Chris. If that’s what you feel you need to do. You’ll miss the weekend’s parties, though.”

Chris shrugged. “That’s fine. I don’t care what you tell everyone. I just know I need to go.”

He gave his mom a quick kiss on the cheek and patted his dad on the shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Chris, please drive carefully. And let us know if Tom is okay.” He nodded and went back to his room to pack.

It was only a few hours’ drive. Chris patiently went the speed limit, not wanting to risk something happening that would give his parents reason never to trust him with something like this again. But he was aching to get back home.

The sun was rising as he pulled up to Tom’s house. He wrote his father a quick text and then got out of the car. All of the windows were shuttered and there was only one car in the driveway. He knocked on the door and when no one answered, he went to the front, directly beneath Tom’s window. Pulling his cell phone out, he dialed his number, but it didn’t even ring.

“Shit.”

Not wanting to get caught doing something suspicious, Chris walked through the side gate that led around to the back of the house. Tom’s room had another window on this side, visible just above the gate. Picking up a rock, he flicked it at the clear pane and waited a few seconds before tossing another. Where could they have gone? They wouldn’t have traveled with Tom feeling so ill, would they? Unless Tom had gotten worse. Maybe his parents had taken him to the hospital. Glancing around, seeing no one outside, Chris got back into his car and drove to one of the two major hospitals, the closest one to their neighborhood.

The woman at the front desk was looking harassed when he walked in.

“Are you related?” she asked, annotating something on the paper in front of her, when he inquired if Tom was registered there.

“Yes, I’m his brother.”

She looked up and whether or not she believed his lie, she sighed loudly before giving him a visitor’s pass and directing him to the fourth floor.

His anxiety grew as he saw the name for that floor in a Plexiglas-protected directory inside the elevator, his sight catching on the phrase “Venom/Poison Treatment”.

His anxiety rose as he waited for the doors to open.

At the end of the hall was a generic waiting room by a nurses’ station.

“Tom Hiddleston, please.”

The nurse glanced at his pass and checked for the room number. “427 on the right.”

“Thanks.”

The door was slightly ajar but he didn’t want to just barge in, fully aware of the fact that he was not a relative at all. He knocked softly and a man answered the door, a man he realized must be Tom’s father.

“I’m so sorry to intrude--.”

“You must be Chris.”

He nodded. Having only met Tom’s mother, Chris saw that Tom had inherited his father’s height and big hands. Tom’s dad looked at him a moment and then nodded, opening the door and waving him in. He introduced himself as James and they shook hands. He whispered to Chris as he closed the door. “He’s been asking for you.” Chris turned to him, surprised. “He’s sleeping right now. I asked my wife to grab us some coffee. She hasn’t left his side since we found him.”

Chris struggled to breathe as he looked at the figure curled on the bed. Tom rested on his side, a white sheet tucked around his shoulders. Plastic tubing was taped to one of his hands, a needle tucked into a vein. “What happened?” He walked around the side and touched his fingers to Tom’s palm. Tom’s hand jumped a little, but then settled. He remained asleep.

Behind him, Tom’s dad stood by the foot of the bed. “We didn’t know at first. My wife came home and found him on the couch, out cold. He was shivering. And bleeding.” Chris turned to him, alarmed.

“Bleeding?”

“Yes. She called an ambulance and it was only when we got here, when they removed his shirt, that we saw the problem.”

“What was it?”

“Two spider bites. One on his lower back and one on his shoulder. Doctor believes he was bitten on separate occasions, but seems like only within a day of each other. Had it been only one bite, it wouldn’t have been this serious. He would have displayed flu-like symptoms, but been fine after a couple of days. It was the second bite that put him over and caused a severe allergic reaction.” He paused. “He must have taken a spill coming back from school. The blood on his face was drying by the time we got him here. It was from a cut on his head.”

Chris struggled to take in this information. Blood on his face? He suddenly remembered Tom feeling unwell Thursday morning, moving against the seat as if in pain. Stubborn, he thought to himself, moving closer to the bed. That must have been after the first bite. Had he been bitten again that night? He could see the edge of a bandage on Tom’s temple, hidden against the pillow he slept on. There was bruising around the edges. He clenched his fists and looked down at the floor.

“It’s my fault,” Tom’s dad was saying. “I sprayed the poison outside. It’s probably what drew the spider out of hiding. My wife went through his room yesterday and found a huge spider just behind his head board. At least that's how she described it. Who knows.”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen. A lot of people fumigate this time of year. If he’d never been bitten before, you would never have known about his allergy to the toxin.”

Mr. Hiddleston was nodding, staring down at his son. The door opened and they both looked up. Tom’s mom walked in holding two cups of coffee. She spotted him and gasped.

She placed the coffees on the side counter and came around to his side. She reached up and hugged him. “Thank you, Chris.”

Surprised, Chris hugged her back. “I’m not sure for what, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“The doctors told us that the Tylenol you gave Tom just before you left helped him fight the fever, which would have been more troubling if left alone. It didn’t make the fever go away entirely, but it helped. ”

“I had no idea it was spider bites. All I knew was that he had a fever and body aches. I assumed it was the flu. I did what I thought was best for him.”

“I’m so glad you did. Tom was in and out of consciousness but was able to answer if he’d taken any medication. He said, ‘Christopher gave me Tylenol’.” She laughed softly, sadly. “He’s been asking for you. I don’t think he remembers that you left.” She gave him a once-over. “Did you just get here?”

Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was still in his black slacks and button-up shirt, wrinkled by this point. “Yeah, I was at a wedding last night. And when Tom stopped answering my texts, I got worried.” She gripped his arm gently, tears gathering in her eyes. There was a knock on the door and a nurse poked her head in.

“It’s time to change his bandages.” She walked in with a tray that held clean bandages and adhesive tape, along with moisturized wipes that Chris assumed were sanitized. “You can step out or stay, it’s up to you.”

Tom’s parents looked like they weren’t going anywhere and Chris looked to his mother for permission to stay. She nodded and patted his arm. “Please go ahead,” she told the nurse. Chris moved closer to Tom, wanting to touch his hand, his face, something, but he was fully aware of his parents standing a few feet away.

The nurse started by lifting the white sheet from his shoulders. She folded it gently across his waist and Chris had the sudden urge to trail his fingers across the flat expanse of Tom’s chest, lightly dusted with soft brown hairs. The nurse leaned down and began peeling away the used bandage. Tom frowned in his sleep and moaned quietly. Chris stepped back as his mother knelt by Tom’s bed, holding his hand.

Walking around to the other side he saw Tom’s back for the first time. The nurse was working on the bite on his shoulder, using the wipes to clean the area. The skin was a deep red and swollen, with a tiny bead of white at the center, the spot the spider bit. The veins beneath his skin were slightly darker in that area. Chris imagined the bite on his lower back was similar.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. “I should never have left him.”

Tom’s dad stepped close. “You’ve helped him more than you know. None of us could have known what it was without him telling us.”

“I don’t think he knew. I know he would have said something.”

Just as the nurse was finishing with the second bandage, Tom stirred. He coughed and his mother put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. The nurse checked his vitals and then quietly left.

“Sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

Tom shook his head. From where Chris was standing, Tom’s back was to him and he stared at the reddened skin not covered by the bandages. And then his voice, low and raspy, “Where’s Chris?”

His mother looked up at him over Tom’s shoulder. “He’s here, love.” She waved Chris over and he walked around the bed, nervous for some reason. His mom stepped back. Not caring who saw, Chris slipped his hand into Tom’s, mindful of the I.V. line connected to his vein. Tom’s face broke into a tired grin and he squeezed his fingers.

“You came.”

“Someone was being a jerk and not returning my texts. I was worried.”

Deep breath. “I’m sorry.” Deep breath. “I honestly don’t know where my phone is right now.”

Chris knelt, his heart hammering, registering for the first time that something happened to Tom that could have removed him from his life. “Forget it. I’m glad you’re getting better.”

Tom, as if afraid he would vanish, held Chris’s hand tighter. “Please stay.”

“I will. If it’s okay with your parents, of course. Otherwise, I will hang around the parking lot or something.” Tom laughed silently, short of breath.

“Of course you can stay, Chris. We’ll be downstairs in the cafeteria, if you need us.” His parents left quietly. Chris looked down at his shoes for a moment and then stood, sitting on the edge of the bed, bringing Tom’s hand to his lap. Tom was shivering and his skin was cold.

“They keep it freezing in here, yeah?”

Tom nodded, eyes never leaving Chris’s face. Chris gathered the blanket folded at Tom’s feet and draped it over the white sheet, tucking it behind his shoulder, careful with the bites.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Chris couldn’t help himself. He reached forward and touched the side of Tom’s face, his fingers carding through his hair. Tom’s eyes closed. He brought his hand up, long fingers circling Chris’s wrist.

“Chris.”

“I’m here, Tom.”

“You’re so warm.” Chris smiled, palming his cheek, thumb grazing the edge of his forehead. He eyed the bandage over his other eyebrow.

“Chris, I need to tell you something.”

Surprised, Chris leaned forward, waiting.

Tom’s eyes were closing, like he was fighting sleep. “Well, two things. Both are probably not what you would expect.”

“What is it?”

Tom took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. “I….” He swallowed, opening his eyes tiredly. “I haven’t been pretending.”

Everything went still. The drip-drip of Tom’s I.V. line seemed loud all of a sudden, the overhead air vents humming. Tom’s fingers on his wrist tightened fractionally. “Chris, I haven’t been pretending. I think about you all the time and the past five weeks have been the most exciting and happiest I’ve ever experienced, but they’ve also been the hardest, not being able to show you how I truly feel. They’ve been so terrifying,” he whispered. “This attraction to you is bigger than myself. It’s more than I’ve ever known. It scares me, how much I want it.” He breathed in, eyes wide. “I really like you, Chris. And I finally want you to know that. For real. Not pretend.”

Chris swallowed. His thumb grazed along the sharp edge of Tom’s cheekbone. “Tom.”

“Please, you don’t have to--.”

Chris didn’t give him the chance to finish. He bent forward and Tom’s eyes sprang open. He breathed in shakily, whispering, “Chris,” just before Chris finally, despairingly, closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Tom’s, cradling his jaw with both hands.

Tom curled his hand in his shirt, pulling him close. Moving his fingers around the warm column of Tom’s neck, Chris angled his face up, breathing him in, groaning softly at the small sound Tom made in his throat. He loved it when he made that sound and he always wanted to be the one that caused it. His lips, so warm, just as wonderful as he remembered them, were soft against his own.

He pulled back, and much like the first time he had kissed him, Tom opened his eyes dazedly, wonder making them bluer, somehow. Chris could see now, in this light, that there were tiny spots of cinnamon brown in the blue irises.

“Tom, I can’t begin to explain to you how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Confusion furrowed Tom’s brows, looking up at Chris from the bed.

Chris laughed softly. “I haven’t been pretending, either.”

“But I thought….”

He shook his head and smiled. Tom’s hand tightened on his shirt. “I really like you, too. I have for a long time. Since before our little arrangement.”

Tom let out a breath of air and smiled, finally. All fear and puzzlement left his face. He tugged at Chris’s shirt, whispering, “Good. Now again?”

Happy to oblige, Chris kissed his lips, expectant and ready. Leaning his forehead against Tom’s, he said, “Can I do that whenever I want now?”

Tom laughed. “Yes, please do.”

“I’ve kind of been restraining myself a bit,” Chris said with a smile and Tom answered with one of his own. “I didn’t want you to get skittish on me again. I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. Not of you. Nervous maybe. But not afraid.”

His eyes stayed closed after saying this, his breathing shallow. “I’m sorry, Christopher. I can’t help it.”

“Rest now, Tom. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” He felt one final squeeze of his hand before Tom drifted off.

The light from the early morning was pouring in through the slanted blinds and was hitting Tom squarely in the eyes. Chris stood, Tom’s grip on his shirt slipping. He closed the blinds and turned back to the room. He pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible, and held Tom’s hand, warm and solid in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if I got some details about the spider bites wrong. This chapter was mostly fluff and meant to soothe over some constant worrying and anxiety my characters were dealing with. Thank you for reading!
> 
> UPDATE: After some deliberation, I decided to take out the line about the spider being a black widow. The ambiguity of the spider will help the timeline of Tom's bites and his illness work a little more smoothly. Thank you to those who contributed with what worked and didn't regarding that part of the story. It helped and I thank everyone for being so patient with me in what is a very special project, albeit an amateur one :) Again, I am so, so sorry if that little snag in the storyline distracted any of you from Chris and Tom, who are my main focus. On to the next!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some deliberation, I decided to take out the line about the spider being a black widow. The ambiguity of the spider will help the timeline of Tom's bites and his illness work a little more smoothly. Thank you to those who contributed with what worked and didn't regarding that part of the story. It helped and I thank everyone for being so patient with me in what is a very special project, albeit an amateur one :) Again, I am so, so sorry if that little snag in the storyline distracted any of you from Chris and Tom, who are my main focus. On to the next!

Tom was in the hospital for two more days. On Monday morning, the day Chris was supposed to have returned from the wedding, he was waiting with Mr. Hiddleston outside Tom’s room. Mrs. Hiddleston was inside with the nurse, helping Tom dress. Tom’s parents now knew about him and Tom, having come back up from the cafeteria that first day to find them both asleep, Chris in the chair next to Tom’s bed, their hands clasped tightly.

“Tom told us a bit about you,” Mr. Hiddleston had said to him later that day, sipping coffee at the table by the window. Tom had remained asleep after Chris had startled awake, Mrs. Hiddleston’s hand on his arm, smiling kindly down at him.

Mrs. Hiddleston nodded, sitting beside him. “He did. He speaks highly of you.”

“Which is surprising, as Tom never mentions anyone from school, apart from random details about how his plays are going,” Mr. Hiddleston added.

“So are you two…you know. Together?” Mrs. Hiddleston smiled wide at him, blue eyes just like Tom’s.

“Diana…” Mr. Hiddleston said, looking at Chris apologetically.

Bashful, Chris rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, the inquisitive nature of parents new to him. “Yeah, we are.” Were they? There was no official asking, but he just knew that Tom had accepted him regardless.

“Mom, please leave him alone.”

They all turned to the bed, where Tom was still lying down. His eyes were open, but barely. He’d just woken up, no doubt catching the last bit of their conversation.

Mr. Hiddleston stood, followed by his wife. “How are you feeling, Tom?”

Tom shrugged, pulling his arms from beneath the blanket and stretching. “Better, I guess. Still so tired.”

His dad nodded. “The doctor said that was normal. We should be able to take you home in another day or two.”

Tom nodded, his eyes flicking over to Chris before promptly falling asleep again.

Over the course of the next two days, Chris was constantly at the hospital. He’d let his parents know what was going on, informing them of Tom’s condition. They offered their help, which Chris appreciated, but he assured them Tom was being taken care of just fine. He would go home to shower and change. He would sleep a bit more and eat something before returning to Tom’s side.

During one of the times Tom was asleep, Chris had touched the edges of the bandage at his temple. He’d watched the nurse change it once already, while Tom eyed him the whole time. The look on his face was strange, almost wary. Chris couldn’t read it. But Tom had looked nervous, staring at him and then finally looking down when the nurse taped a clean bandage on it. The cut was small, but it was the bruising that shocked Chris. Tom’s right temple, down to his cheek and stretching into his forehead, was purple and red with minor swelling. How had he done that? Had he fallen on the way home from school? He’d wanted to ask Tom about it, but his parents were sitting at the table and he didn’t want to make Tom remember something about what was probably a scary moment for him. He would bring it up later.

In all honesty, the past forty-eight hours had been more than he could have asked for, apart from Tom nearly being poisoned to death. That thought alone could make Chris stop in his tracks, eyes wide at the possibility of what had almost occurred. But their quiet revelations to each other in that freezing hospital room made Chris smile at odd times in his day. Already, the way they usually were with each other, while staying fundamentally the same, amplified certain aspects of their relationship, the sincerity and affection definitely more pronounced. There were still touches and whispers, only more, a liberty to them that Chris could swear helped him breathe better, easier.

And the kissing. Even with their limited privacy, what with Tom being isolated in that room and his parents being nearly always present, he and Tom still snuck in kisses whenever they could. And how he craved them. Tom’s lips soft and yielding to his, the shy way he opened his mouth, Chris’s tongue slipping in to brush once, twice against Tom’s, until they had to break apart when hearing someone approach his room. They were comfortable enough with hand holding around his parents, who from the beginning showed no opposition to their relationship. Chris had the feeling that Tom had been forthright with them from a very young age, very much like himself and his parents, only without so much of the involvement Tom’s parents showed in his life.

Now, he and Mr. Hiddleston waited for Tom to be released. His strength still sapped, Tom would need assistance with some basic things, but for the most part, he could be taken care of from home.

Chris was just happy that Tom still had some time to recuperate before going back to school. During one of their rare moments alone, with Chris leaning up against Tom’s pillow, Tom had shared with him his worries about the fall play.

“I hope I’m better by the time auditions are scheduled, which is sometime mid-September.”

“I think you will be. It’s barely August. We have another three weeks before school starts.” He brushed his thumb down Tom’s cheek. “Your color is coming back a bit.” The blush that followed helped his color, too. Chris, mesmerized, simply stared.

The door opened and he and Mr. Hiddleston turned around. The nurse came out first followed by Mrs. Hiddleston and finally Tom, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. There was a butterfly bandage on his temple, hiding very little of the large bruise but keeping the cut closed. He offered up a sheepish smile to everyone, stepping to Chris’s side. He slipped his hand into Chris’s and as a group they started walking to the nurse’s station. The nurse, with whom everyone had become quite friendly over the last two days, was named Amanda. She directed Tom’s parents to the main desk and they started filling out some forms.

“Go on ahead. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mr. Hiddleston handed Tom the car keys and after thanking the nurse for her help, he and Chris headed to the elevators. After entering one that was empty, Chris hit the button for the lobby. Tom immediately stepped into his arms, pressing his cheek to Chris’s neck. Avoiding his bite marks, Chris hugged him back, leaning against one of the walls.

“Ready to be home?”

Tom groaned. “Yes. As kind as they were to me here, I am ready for my own bed.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better.”

Tom raised his head. “Thank you for being with me.”

They kissed quietly, once, twice, until the elevator doors opened. He and Tom stepped out. Tom tried to let go of his hand, but Chris held tight. He guided them through the lobby, past waiting rooms and help desks, Tom walking slowly and unsteadily. Only a couple of people gave them a double take, but everyone else ignored them, too concerned about their own issues to pay two high school boys holding hands any attention. Chris knew Tom was self-conscious about how they would appear to other people, but Chris wasn’t worried about it. He realized things would be a bit rocky once school started, but it wasn’t a thing unheard of. He expected some gossip but it should die down. And besides, he was prepared to defend his relationship with Tom, no matter what.

**

Once at the car, Tom unlocked the doors and he and Chris slid into the backseat. Stretching toward the front, Chris put the keys into the ignition and turned the car on, blasting the A/C. Tom was already sweating.

“I can’t seem to catch my breath,” Tom said as he reclined in his seat, head resting back. Wincing when he pressed too hard on his bites, Tom fidgeted until he finally found a comfortable position.

“Just give yourself some time. You still have to recover a bit.”

Tom grumbled his agreement, finding Chris’s hand again. Chris looked like he suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, what was the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“You said you had two things to tell me, from before.”

Tom’s face bloomed red and he looked down. “Oh, yeah. That.” He cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”

“C’mon, you have to tell me now.”

He sighed. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“I was going to hold off on the tickle fight until you got better, but if you want to do this now…”

Tom smiled, head still back and eyes closed. “Don’t you dare, Christopher.”

Chris leaned forward and planted a kiss on his good temple. “Please tell me.”

“It’s just…it’s hard for me to say.”

Chris nudged his nose along Tom’s soft hairline. Slowly, a wicked glint in his eyes, he touched his fingertips to Tom’s ribcage. Tom gasped and jumped, his hands coming up to grip Chris’s forearms. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

Chris waited. He inhaled. “Um…Mr. Shaw, he….”

Chris stopped moving, his hand frozen at Tom’s waist. When Tom hesitated, Chris said, “Mr. Shaw, _what_ , Tom?” Tom felt his stomach flip flop at how quiet his voice became.

Tom licked his lips and looked at him and then nervously looked away. “He…. It’s just that, I wasn’t feeling well at all when I took my test and I don’t think I was strong enough to stop it in time. I’m sorry, Chris. You told me not to go late. You told me. And I swear I set my alarm, but now that I think about it, I don’t remember hearing it and it took me forever to walk there--.”

Chris sat up, taking Tom’s wrists in his hands. “What did he do?” A whole myriad of horrifying images swept through his mind. Of Tom struggling to hold Shaw off; of Tom being held down, _restrained_ by that goddamned sick fuck; of Shaw finally getting what he’d been after.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

Tom’s chin trembled and he turned away, looking out the window. Oblivious to the panic growing inside Chris, he continued. “He touched me again. Only, it was worse this time.” He explained how Shaw had grabbed him, taunted him about Chris, held him against the window, kissed his neck, his foot kicking his legs apart. “I was burning up, delirious, relieved to finally be done with that stupid class. And then...I don’t know. I guess I was mentally preparing myself to walk home in the blazing heat. I should have been paying more attention. He reached out and touched me again, holding my arm. I must have looked awful because he was raising his hand to feel my cheek for fever, like…like you did the day before.” He breathed deeply, his fingers lacing with Chris’s. “Doing something so…so intimate, something that reminded me of you. I couldn’t stand the thought of it.” He paused when he looked at Chris, who was holding his breath. “Are you okay?”

“No.” There was fear in the way his eyebrows scrunched together. He moved closer to Tom. “Tom. Did he…?” His jaw hardened. “Tom, tell me he didn’t….”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Oh, Chris, no! No, he didn’t.”

Chris’s face fell with open relief. He closed his eyes and reached for Tom, wrapping him in his arms. His hands shook from barely contained rage. Tom felt tears sting his eyes as he returned the hug. “I tried to step back, but that’s when he grabbed me. Anyway, you know the rest.” They pulled apart, faces so close. He smiled a small humorless smile, staring down at his lap. “It’s funny because I thought of you. It gave me courage, I suppose. Next second, I had Mr. Shaw pushed up against the board and I told him to never fucking touch me again and if he did I would report his ass to the authorities and who did he think he was, he wasn’t you. You are the only one who can touch me,” he whispered.

He said it all in one breath and now that it was out, he relaxed back against the seat.

Chris said nothing for a moment, head bent low, staring at the floor of the car. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

Tom touched his fingers to Chris’s jaw, raising his head. “What for?”

“I wasn’t there. If I had been there, he wouldn’t--.”

“Wouldn’t have what? Wouldn’t have lashed out like that? Chris, to tell you the truth, I had to face him sooner or later. This wasn’t something that was just going to evaporate into nothing.” He frowned, and Chris inched closer, raising his hand to Tom’s neck, brushing lightly. Tom’s words echoed in his head. _You are the only one who can touch me._ It made him dizzy, this trust Tom gave him. He wouldn’t betray it. “I don’t regret it. I despise that he did what he did, was so close to me, but I had to stand up to him.”

“You were ill, Tom. You were in no position to be sexually harassed on top of that.”

Tom smiled kindly. “Is anyone?”

“Right. That was stupid of me to say.” Chris hung his head. “But I still regret not being there.”

Tom pulled him close. “Had you been there, I would have felt it was okay and safe to finally collapse.” He sighed. “I did collapse, actually. Right to the floor. But I picked myself up. I had to. As it were, I honestly can’t believe I made it home.”

Chris brushed his thumb down Tom’s cheek. “I would have caught you,” he whispered.

“I know,” Tom whispered back. “You would have done a great many things for me, Christopher.”

They sat like that, Chris holding his hand, Tom tucked into his side.

“I’m proud of you, Tom,” Chris whispered.

Tom blinked and smiled. “Thank you.”

Chris raised a finger to Tom’s forehead, his eyes darkening as he brushed along the outer edges of the bruise. “But did he do this? Did he hit you?”

“No. It was when I fell. I must have hit my head on one of the desks. I didn’t even realize I was bleeding.”

Chris sighed and leaned in to brush his lips on the welt.

“You’re angry,” Tom said.

Chris angled his head away, getting a better look at Tom slumped next to him. “Hey. I’m not angry with you. I can tell you that. It’s not at you, okay?” Tom’s eyes were watery from their hug a moment ago, but Chris felt his emotion like a punch in the gut. Tom looked at him a moment, eyes flicking over Chris’s face, and then nodded.

Voices outside the car grew in volume and then the car doors opened. Tom’s parents climbed into the front seats.

“All ready, boys?”

They separated a bit, but held onto each other’s hands.

“Yes, dad. I’m starving.”

“Should we stop somewhere?”

His mom shook her head. “No, we can order some pizza from home. Tom shouldn’t be out so soon. Chris, you’ll stay, of course, and eat with us?”

Chris nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

Chris kept a tight grip on Tom’s hand and stared out the window. Tom watched him closely. When his mom and dad fell into a conversation about hospital service, he leaned into Chris and said very softly, “Don’t be upset. Please?” He could see it, in the way Chris’s eyebrows were drawn together, the way a tiny muscle jumped in his jawline. But the tension washed off his face when he looked at Tom.

He turned his head and said into this ear, “I can’t help it. He could have really hurt you.”

Tom pulled back and mouthed, “But he didn’t.”

Chris tilted his head and whispered his name, the tiniest sound, “Tom,” and the way he said it, the caring in it, Tom knew him to mean, _Yes. Yes, he did hurt you_.

They stared at each other until Tom looked down and rested his head back, dizzy with the look on Chris’s face, the feeling of simple protection that washed over him.

At the house, Tom’s dad went into the kitchen to order the food. He and Chris headed up the stairs after Tom assured his mom that he would be fine.

“Let us know when the food is here, please.”

Tom slowly lowered himself to the floor by his bed. “It’s the strangest thing. My skin feels so tight.”

Chris sank down beside him. “You still have some swelling.” He reached behind Tom and slowly touched the lining of the bandage beneath Tom’s shirt. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes. But whatever they gave me helps. Too bad it also makes me sleepy.”

“Do you want to rest?”

Tom put a hand on his knee. Chris was being quieter than usual since Tom had told him about Shaw. He didn’t want Chris to feel responsible. It wasn’t his fault, or anybody’s. Except Shaw’s, of course. “No, no it’s okay. I like sitting here with you. And I’m incredibly hungry.” Chris smiled at that.

They flipped on the television and watched South Park until his mom stuck her head in the door. She brought them a large pizza of mushrooms and pepperoni, Tom’s favorite. Handing them two cans of Coke and some napkins, she said, “Eat up. There’s more downstairs if you want.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

She left the door open an inch behind her.

Gripping a slice of pizza in one hand, Tom bent it in half and devoured it in three bites. He ate two more slices by the time Chris finished his second. Watching Tom lick at his grease-stained fingers, Chris suddenly put his pizza down. He caught Tom’s wrist in his hand and kissed his fingertips, bringing the pad of a finger just inside his mouth, sucking lightly. Tom’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in a silent _Oh_.

“Is it okay…if I kiss you?”

Tom’s heart beat a rhythm inside his eardrum. “Chris, yes. Please, you don’t have to ask permission.”

Leaning in, Chris pecked at the corner of his mouth, the smell of dough and cheese and heat clinging to his skin. Tom could see the uncertainty in Chris’s eyes, wondering if Tom was okay to be touched like this after what happened. What Chris didn’t know was that he was the only one Tom wanted to touch him like this, that with Chris he was able to be free and safe, finally, to explore and taste and feel. Tom’s hand rose and gripped his neck, bringing their lips together. It lasted for a second, it lasted for an hour, but he was swimming, his hearing sharpened and attuned to Chris’s small noise of surprise, his sighs, the way he breathed his name. The TV noise faded to nothing. All he knew was Chris’s heated skin, his seeking lips. Tom’s own slippery fingers ran through Chris’s gold strands, gripping, pulling him close.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a chapter to hold you over until Monday! Thanks so much for reading! Love you all :)
> 
> UPDATE: I added some parts to the scene of Chris and Tom in Tom's room after Chris climbs up the ladder. The new edits start at the line: "Slowly curving his hand..."
> 
> Thank you to l_ostsheep3 for her kind suggestions and encouragement. Hope you like the new version!

Bent together, lips locked, hands the only parts they allowed themselves to move freely, Chris struggled to control his emotions. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to limit himself of Tom, didn’t want to have to say no or wait for later. But they had to. Tom needed to get better, Tom’s parents needed to be somewhere other than in the kitchen downstairs. Yet, still. This open desire Tom was beginning to display was intoxicating.

Tom pulled away suddenly, pain on his face.

“Are you okay?” Chris leaned back, hand braced on Tom’s neck, looking him over.

Tom gasped, wincing. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s my back.”

Quickly getting to his feet, Chris grasped both of Tom’s hands. “Ready?”

Tom nodded.

Chris pulled and lifted Tom up. Once Tom was steady, he bent and deposited their half-eaten crusts and crumpled napkins into the empty cardboard box. He placed it and their soda cans on Tom’s dresser.

Tom had taken a seat on his bed, bending stiffly to remove his shoes, tucking them beneath the bedframe.

“When do you have to change the bandages?”

“They just changed them when we left. I should be okay for a few more hours.”

Flicking the TV off, Chris helped Tom lie face down and took a seat against the wall by the headboard. Tom reached his hand out and Chris gripped it in his, resting his arm on the bed next to Tom’s head.

“I’m so glad you finally know, Chris.”

“Me, too.”

Tom bunched his brows, the look he got when he was thinking of a way to ask a question. “I was wondering about something.”

Chris scooted closer, resting his chin on his arm, watching Tom’s eyelashes curl up when he blinked.

“You said before that you dated a girl…I guess I just want to know what that means.”

“What does it mean to date a girl?”

Tom smiled and hid his face in his pillow.

“No,” he said, voice muffled. He lifted his head and brought their joined hands up to rest between their faces. “If you liked her…and you also like me….”

“Oh.” Chris frowned. “Well… I guess I’m attracted to both genders.” He looked down. “I never thought of it before. I think I like to appreciate beauty no matter who carries it. There are things about women I find attractive, and there are things about men I like a lot, too. I guess I go with whatever turns me on.” He stared at the carpet, unsure how to explain himself.

Long fingers touched the tip of his chin and raised his face. Tom, head resting on the pillow, swallowed before he asked, “And what turns you on, Christopher?”

“You.” It was immediate. There was no question. There had been a couple of girls he’d thought were pretty at school, but he’d never been interested enough to pursue anything with them. In all honesty, Tom had been in the back of his mind since the first day he’d seen him in the hallways. “You do, Tom. For a long time, you have. Only now that I’ve been able to get closer to you, do I see how unclear it all was. I can see you in so much detail now.” He scooted closer. “You blush when I touch you or when you catch me looking at you. See, like now.” He stroked the pad of his thumb along Tom’s jaw, fascinated with how the color spread across his skin. “You reach for me sometimes and I don’t think you realize it, how good it makes me feel. You bite your lip. It makes my thoughts go haywire.” They laughed quietly, drawing closer. “There are two freckles inside your left ear that I love to look at. And three more on your neck, shaped like a triangle. I’ve been dying to taste them.” Tom blushed and smiled, looking down. “I love how smart you are. How you’re comfortable enough to call me Christopher all the time now instead of when you’re almost unconscious.” Tom laughed softly. He curled his legs up and rested on his side, facing Chris. “You have this incredible kindness in you; it’s selfless.” He straightened and leaned forward, resting his forehead on their clasped hands. “You’ve opened up to me, Tom. I think you’re stunning.”

The entire room seemed alien and remote; all thoughts of Tom’s parents downstairs fled his mind. Tom, risking stretching his skin more painfully but seemingly without caring, propped himself up on his elbows and kissed Chris, whose words still rang in his ears. Tom seemed to delight in hearing Chris’s stifled groan, as if surprised by the fact that he could have this effect on Chris, on anyone at all. As Tom pulled at his sleeve shyly, Chris marveled at it, bending lower and lower until all he knew of Tom was his warmth, his exhalations, the way he showed his yearning, all fingers and gasps and whispers of _Chris_. 

This feeling of safety, the kindness in Chris’s powerful body, the bursting of his heart: these were gifts that Tom would guard somewhere in the space behind his ribcage, sheltered and hidden away, visible to only one person, if he so wished. And right now, in this moment, with Chris rising to his knees, pushing Tom a little bit back so that he loomed over him, hands gently curving over his arms, Tom very much believed that Chris so wished it.

They broke apart after a few minutes, both breathing heavily. The texture of Chris’s hair still whispered across the tips of his fingers. His scent still lingered along the curve of Tom’s neck, where Chris had breathed quiet reverence, tasting, finally, those three little freckles.

The phone ringing and someone answering it downstairs brought them out of their warm bubble.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said hoarsely, a tiny blue ring visible around his dilated pupils. Tom was reminded of the hungry look of a wolf, only in the form of this giant golden teddy bear. His hands stayed firmly at Tom’s neck, fingers slipping up into his curls. His cheeks were reddening.

“For what?” Tom said, letting the end tips of Chris’s hair slide over his palm.

Chris swallowed audibly. “I, um. I want to kiss you more. Really, really want to kiss you more. But I don’t think we should.” Tom frowned up at him, not understanding. Chris leaned close. “I’m getting really turned on right now.”

Tom glanced down at the edge of the bed, obscuring Chris from the waist down, and his eyes widened. “Oh.” A little smile fell over his lips. He slowly lifted himself up on his elbows and let his mouth ghost over Chris’s, whispering, “I am, too.”

Chris gasped and his eyes widened. He practically growled when he clutched at Tom’s wrists, closing the distance with a kiss, harder than before. Tom made a small noise and opened his mouth for Chris, his tongue tentatively nudging.

Chris jumped away from Tom when they heard his mom on the stairs, talking with someone on the phone. He fell back against his spot on the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest. Tom lay back down on his stomach, eyes burning into Chris.

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered, and Chris tilted his head and winked at him, lifting his hand and brushing a curl off Tom’s forehead.

There was a knock at the door as his mom poked her head in. “All finished up?” She was holding the phone to her chest, keeping someone on hold.

“Yes, mom, thanks.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hiddleston. It was great.”

She smiled. “No problem. Hey, hun, your aunt Helen is on the phone. Are you up for chatting with her? She just wants to see how you’re feeling.”

Tom nodded and held his hand out for the phone. He kept his eye on Chris, sitting so still against the wall. He could still feel his hand in his hair.

He brought the receiver up to his ear and said hello to his aunt.

Chris was chewing on the edge of his thumbnail, his other hand tightened into a fist. He tried to make his conversation as short as possible, his mom hovering by the door, holding the empty pizza box.

After chatting with his aunt for a minute, he gave the phone to his mother and she left the room.

“I should go,” Chris said, clasping his hands together over his bent knees.

“You shouldn’t,” Tom said, resting his head on the pillow, blinking drowsily. “You should stay for days and days…and days and days...”

Chris chuckled and got to his knees. He bent down and kissed Tom on his forehead, nuzzling, touching his neck tenderly.

“I wish I could. But I have to go check in with my parents. And you need to rest. Call me when you wake up?”

Tom nodded. “I will. Thank you, Chris, for being there for me.”

“Thank you, Tom, for fighting.”

Tom smiled, his eyes finally closing.

**

Tom woke up late evening. There was a text from Chris on his phone, asking how he was feeling. He typed out a response, squinting into the glare of the screen. It’s only then that he noticed how dark it was in his room. He sat up gingerly, holding his breath. His back felt like fire. Checking the time, he took another pain tablet and slowly stood. He visited the bathroom, feeling slightly unsteady.

He stopped by his parents’ room, but hearing nothing within, he figured they’d gone to sleep. Back in his room, his phone was lit up with another message.

_I’m going for a run. I’ll have my phone on me k?_

He was about to reply when he chanced a look out the window, the blinds giving him a slanted view of the street.

And that’s when he saw him.

Tom’s eyes widened, blood freezing when he recognized Mr. Shaw on the sidewalk, just in front of the rows of un-kept bushes by the vacant house across the street. He was standing, awkwardly hidden next to what Tom assumed was his car, looking up and down the street and then up at Tom’s window. Tom dropped to the floor, heart racing. Bile rose in his throat when he remembered the feel of Mr. Shaw pressed against him, his breath, his fingers squeezing painfully. He hit the send button on his phone and it dialed Chris’s number from their text conversation.

“Chris,” Tom gasped when Chris answered.

“Tom? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but Mr. Shaw is right outside my window.”

He was whispering into the phone, trying not to let his anxiety get the better of him. He crouched on the floor by his desk, trying to peer out into the street.

“What? I’ll be right there.”

Chris hung up and Tom held the phone to his chest, trying to ignore his revulsion. He stood up slowly and watched as Shaw kept wiping his open palms on his button up shirt, nervous most likely. Tom was confident that he couldn’t see into his room. All the lights were off and it was dark outside anyway. He suddenly imagined Chris sprinting up the streets that separated their houses, veering from whatever path he’d been on for his run.

His phone started vibrating. It was Chris.

“Is he still there?”

Tom looked out again and saw that Shaw was climbing into his car.

“He’s leaving. Something probably spooked him.”

“Wait for me.” And Chris was gone. His voice sounded so controlled, even though Tom could tell he was running.

Just as Shaw’s taillights turned on and he pulled away from the curb, Chris came running around the corner, but was too late as Shaw made a right out of their neighborhood and vanished.

Tom let out the breath he was holding, realizing he was shaking. He leaned against the wall. “Dammit,” he whispered, terrified over what he just witnessed. He squinted through a space in his blinds and saw Chris pacing out on the street, looking at where Shaw’s car had disappeared. He turned and looked up at Tom in is window. He put his cell to his ear and then Tom’s phone was ringing.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked when he answered.

Tom put his hand on the windowpane. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hang on a sec.”Chris ended the call, coming up the drive and opening the side gate. Tom followed him with his eyes as much as the wall outside would allow. He swallowed thickly when he saw Chris was wearing basketball shorts and shoes. Nothing else.

He scrambled around his bed to his second window and watched as Chris propped their ladder on the wall. Tom quickly unlatched the lock and pulled it up just as Chris started climbing. He stepped aside when Chris crawled in. They stared at each other, Chris’s chest shiny in the light coming in through the window.

“It was him,” Chris said, a bit hoarsely. “I’ve seen his car in the parking lot all summer." Chris took a small step toward Tom, hand held up toward him. “Are you okay? He didn’t. I mean. He didn’t try to climb up here did he? Because I honestly wouldn’t put it past him.”

Tom held still for just a moment and then stepped to Chris. “No. I’m fine. He didn’t try anything. I’m seriously weirded out though. He knows where I live.” He hung his head and tried to still his trembling hands. “I don’t want him to touch me again.” Chris finally closed the distance between them, pulling him into his arms, flush against his bare chest.

“He won’t, Tom. I promise you that. He will never touch you again.” Chris’s skin was lightly coated in sweat and Tom inhaled, nose against his neck, relaxing when he breathed in the clean and woodsy scent of Chris, so, so very male. His pulse, Tom’s lips pressed against it, was fast, beating just under his skin. Hair up in a bun, Tom tucked the loose strands behind Chris’s ear, mouth partly open. His very presence, so solid before him, eased Tom’s fear and made him soften in the feeling of safety he provided.

“How does he know?”

“I’m sure he has access to your records.” Chris shook his head. “Fuck. I can’t believe he went this far after…well, after what he did before.” He framed Tom’s face with his hands, angling back to get a good look at him.

Tom’s worry melted away as he took in more of Chris before him. His hands lifted and lightly skimmed over his chest, so warm from his sprint. “You ran here.”

Chris blinked and tightened his hands on Tom’s head, careful with his cut, bringing him just a bit closer. “I did. Of course I did. I was afraid he would try something again.”

“What would you have done?”

Chris looked away, his eyes unfocused. “I don’t know, Tom. I really don’t know.” But the feel of Chris’s hands fisting against his waist, Tom had a good idea of what Chris would have done. It was emanating from him like energy, his usual gentle nature colored red.

The air in the room suddenly changed. Before where there was a sharp anxiety, there now was a heated circle of darkness with Chris’s pale skin the sole focal point. Bending low, Chris caught Tom’s lips with his, and Tom, heart fluttering at the way Chris moved his hands around his waist to rest against his lower back, moaned quietly.

It was a small shuffle of feet but they found themselves at the bed, the back of Tom’s legs meeting the edge of the mattress. He sat down slowly, looking up at Chris, whose chest rose and fell with every labored breath. He braced his hands behind him and scooted back, reaching up to take Chris’s wrist. Chris lifted a leg and rested on his knee, looking down at Tom.

Slowly curving his hand around his waist, fingers sliding in fresh sweat, Tom pulled gently until Chris was hovering above him.

“Tom?” Chris said, breath tickling Tom’s jaw, looked down in wonder. He was leaning all his weight on his arms beside Tom’s head, probably afraid of hurting Tom with his fresh wounds. But the pain pill and the adrenaline from fear of seeing Shaw and now being so close to Chris, meant that Tom felt nothing and everything and his legs were bumping up against Chris and all he knew was that, however much it may frighten him, he wanted this.

“Chris,” Tom replied, brushing his fingers over his forehead and into his golden hair, still tied in a bun. Relaxing further until he rested on his forearms, Chris slowly lowered his body to Tom’s, studying his face for signs of pain. Seeing none, he bent and kissed Tom’s neck, licking a stripe up to his ear lobe. Tom shivered and moaned again, quietly, so quietly, so immensely glad it was late and his parents were asleep. Heat flooded his core and he bit his lip.

“You smell so good,” Chris whispered, pecking at his throat and moving to his other ear. Tom’s arms tightened around his broad back. His legs shifted until Chris was settled nicely against his groin.

Hissing, Chris brought his head up, staring down at Tom, both feeling their cocks harden against each other. Tom closed his eyes and whimpered, angling his hips for more friction.

“Fuck,” Chris breathed, resting his forehead on Tom’s collarbones. “I can feel you. You’re fucking amazing.” They held still for a moment, balanced in this place where one single movement would undo them. Tom’s fingers drifted down Chris’s back, feeling the dip of his spine, the rough fabric at the edge of his basketball shorts.

“Christopher.” He breathed his name into the room, eyes closed, neck arched, knowing only that Chris made this pulsing inside him ring with life. Chris above him, all along his body, set his skin to vibrating. Chris, hearing that shy imploring, lifted his head. Reaching up to cradle Tom’s neck with his hand, he brought their lips together. He didn’t want to force anything on Tom, didn’t want that to be the reason. He wanted to devour Tom, slowly and all at once, but when he was ready. Tom, who even now was raising his pelvis to rub against Chris, lifting and seeking what he knew Chris could give, until he opened his eyes and realized what he was doing. He gasped and dropped his hips back to the bed, turning his head to the side, ashamed.

Chris gripped Tom around his biceps, holding him down gently. “Hey,” he said, bumping his nose in an Eskimo kiss. “Don’t get skittish on me now. It’s okay.”

Tom raised his eyes, a soft pink coloring his skin. “I’m sorry.”

Wanting to get that scared look off of Tom’s face, Chris rolled them until they faced each other on their sides. He curved his hand around Tom’s thigh, pulling him flush against him, Tom’s cock hard against his hip. His lips hovered over Tom’s. “Does that feel good? Do you like that?”

Tom bit back a groan and nodded breathlessly, running his hand down Chris’s side, timidly curving around his buttock. Chris growled low in his throat, reaching down to anchor Tom’s leg higher up his waist. Tom’s cotton pajama bottoms and his own basketball shorts made everything soft and sudden and smooth and long. They both took a moment to absorb the size and weight of the other’s cock and, while Chris gritted his teeth and pushed down on Tom just a little, Tom arched instinctively, imagining Chris inside him. He was big. Then again, Tom knew his own size to be larger than average, something he felt a strange sort of pride over, even if his embarrassment usually won out and he just didn’t think about it.

This personal and random analysis quickly dissipated as Chris put more of his weight on Tom. Filled with all these thoughts of what it might feel like to sleep with Chris, Tom lay staring at the ceiling in mute awe, the white shape of his butterfly bandage bright in the near darkness. Chris pulled away a bit to look at him, struck by the veins standing out along his neck, the dim light coming in from the window only barely allowing him to see the blush rising on Tom’s skin. He appeared paralyzed.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay.”

Tom took in a deep breath, panting, releasing it in short gusts. He nodded up at Chris, his fingers digging into his biceps, his waist, his shoulder, anywhere he could reach. He curled his arm up behind Chris’s head, fingers sinking into his scalp.

“I want to see you,” Chris said, holding himself apart from Tom, who seemed to be fighting an internal struggle of wanting to cling to Chris or jump away in alarm. “Can I take this off?” he said, fingering the bottom of Tom’s shirt.

It took only a moment, but Tom nodded. “Okay,” he whispered and half sat up, Chris moving back a bit to give him room. “Help me?” he said, crossing his arms and pulling his shirt halfway up. The bandages tended to snag on what he was wearing, so Chris took hold of the material and tugged if off slowly. His large hands trailed down from Tom’s neck to his chest, fingers skimming over the small, barely-there patch of light brown hairs between his pecs, along his flat stomach, over his shoulders to the bandage there.

“We don’t have to do anything, Tom. You’re still not healed and if you want to wait until you’re absolutely ready, even after you’re absolutely better, we can.”

Tom nodded, a little winded. “Will you…will you lie here with me, right now…at least?” He cast wide eyes up at Chris, who inhaled softly.

“Yes, Tom.” He said, folding him up in his arms again and crushing their lips together. They settled onto the bed again, Tom curled tightly against his chest.

There was a slight tremor in his hands, the way they roamed over Chris’s neck, trailed along his stomach muscles, wrapped under his arm to pull him close.

“Chris, I…” He swallowed, wide eyes frantic in their search of Chris’s face.

“I’m here, Tom. I’m here.” Chris caught Tom’s bottom lip in his teeth and gently bit, back bending when Tom’s hands clenched on his waist. Tom looked startled, despite his obvious enjoyment of it, eyes wide at first and then slowly closing. Chris licked the bite mark, savoring Tom’s throaty sound of appreciation.

He paused. “Have you ever…?

Tom looked up at him. “Come before?”

Chris nodded, watching as Tom’s eyes fluttered closed when he shifted his hips, seeking some kind of friction against his thigh.

“Yes,” he breathed and Chris blinked. A slow smile touched his lips.

“You’re going to have to show me that someday.”

“Chris…” Tom said shyly, looking down, heat flooding his face.

Squeezing his fingers along the lean muscle of Tom’s thigh through his pajama bottoms, Chris began rubbing Tom’s cock on his leg again. Tom moaned, head falling back, exposing his neck to Chris, the length of it, the smooth curve and rise of collarbone, nearly white in that porous darkness. Needing to taste, to claim, to mark in some way, Chris quickly latched on, sucking at a spot just atop his shoulder. And just as the starburst color of salt and something akin to caramel burst over his tongue, the sweet sound of Tom groaning and bending further under him almost undid his resolve. Grasping the blanket beneath them and holding Tom closer, he sucked at his skin and set to engulf him in this way, however miniscule to what he wished he could do, what he would wait for Tom to do.

He felt with delicious fervor the tremulous grip of Tom’s fingers on his back, the blunt nails, his legs twining against Chris, seeking some kind of leverage.

Chris shifted them, putting more of his weight on top of Tom, whose hand clamped behind his neck, his body yielding easily beneath him. Tom’s head was tucked tightly between his shoulder and the bed, allowing his lips access to that tanned skin, the soft wisps of blond hair tickling his face. He was absolutely drowning in the devastation that was Chris above him.

Their urgency was shattering. They moved and they realized, all at the same time, that they would not be able to simply lie together, not now, not with Tom’s warmth radiating off him and Chris, with only his weight and burning need pushing him deeper into the mattress.

Chris, hand trembling, moved his arm down, down, further down, fingers pushing beneath the elastic waistband of Tom’s pajama bottoms, hesitating a moment, studying Tom, whose eyes were half lidded and whose hips were rising. And so he kept reaching until he was palming his cock through his boxers, full and hard. Tom bucked, back arching up against Chris, who held him steady, murmuring sweetly in his ear, “I’ve got you. I’m here.” He rubbed his palm over the head, feeling the soft giving texture of his balls, the solid consistency of his shaft.

Tom’s desperation was intoxicating; the soft moans, the way he breathed Chris’s name, acted as beacons for Chris to guide himself by. He held back his own moans when Tom’s nails scraped lines on his back, the sensation shooting straight to his cock. Tom’s core became so heated, his blood pooling at his center, being claimed now by Chris. The pressure was too much and the bruise Chris was slowly pulling to the surface of his skin became a white brightness in his vision and he was sinking in this heat, this weight that carried such a lovely name, a name so completely his own now.

_Chris_.

He hadn’t realized he’d actually whispered his name until Chris lifted his head, his lips searching. And even though Tom knew he was still clumsy with his kisses, his mouth opened for him and they kissed, simply, learning each other.

His hips canted up into Chris’s hand once, twice, and he came with a small sob, face buried against Chris’s shoulder, shuddering his name, a rippling that coursed down his body. Chris held him all the tighter, absorbing those little tremors into himself. No doubt feeling the warmth of his cum against his hand, Chris groaned, face buried beneath Tom’s jaw. He raised himself up, watching Tom’s face break open in pleasure, the parted lips, glazed eyes half open.

The mark on Tom’s shoulder was dark red and would no doubt be purple the next day. The fact that he left it there, that Tom had never let anyone beside Chris mark him, that Tom would fidget with his shirt for days to hide it and think of Chris while doing it, made him vibrate with need. He let out a breathy moan, bending his head and opening his mouth to lightly bite the bruise he had so lovingly worked at. This elicited another strangled sigh from Tom, who lay limply in his arms.

“You’re beautiful.” Tom lifted up and lay a tiny kiss on his jaw.

Something in Chris’s face softened further. “You are. When you laugh, when you worry, when you’re angry or defensive, when you smile.” He kissed the corner of his mouth. “When you come.”

Tom looked down, a warmth spreading up his chest. No one had ever seen him come before and now he had just done so in front of Chris. He found it oddly liberating.

His brows scrunched up. “But what about you?”

Chris looked down at his still very obvious hard on. Tom was licking his lips and moving his hand downward when Chris suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” he whispered.

They both tensed when they heard voices down the hall.


	15. Chapter 15

They sat up in a hurry. Chris helped Tom back into his shirt, his mind warning him about the hickey he left on Tom’s skin. They fumbled for a second before Tom pointed to the other side of his bed. Chris climbed off and hastily lowered the blinds to the window he’d come in through before falling to the floor and flattening himself against the side of the bed frame farthest from the door. Tom was already under the covers trying to look as still as possible. If it weren’t for his racing heart and pounding worry, Chris would probably be laughing at the hilarity of the entire situation.

There was a knock at his door and then light spilled into the room from the hallway. Peering through books and stacks of paper under the bed, Chris could see a pair of bare feet stop beside where Tom was laying.

“How are you feeling?” he heard Tom’s dad whisper.

Tom said something too low for Chris to make out. He held as still as possible, the carpet chafing the skin of his back. His erection was throbbing against his leg and he willed it to go down, trying to think of the most un-arousing things possible; mowing the lawn, bunny rabbits, watching boring videos in science class, parents barging into rooms at the most inopportune moments. Finally, he started to feel it flag a bit.

He waited while some more words were exchanged, his eyes narrowing on a spider scurrying away from him. He squashed it with his thumb before it escaped behind some books, a little more forcefully than he normally would have. All he could picture was the swollen bites on Tom’s back. He flicked away the remains and relaxed his head to the floor, breathing shallowly.

They continued to speak quietly and then Tom’s dad was heading toward the door again.

“The light, please,” Tom said. Slowly, the light from the hallway disappeared as the door was closed. There was no movement for two eternal seconds and then Tom got out of the bed just as Chris jumped to his feet.

“I asked for some water. He’ll be back any minute.”

They pulled the blinds open and Chris put a leg out onto the ledge. Balanced precariously, he turned around and reached for Tom, who stepped up to him eagerly. He wrapped his arms around Chris and they kissed, fast and hard. Kisses strayed to cheeks and jaws and necks; Chris bit lightly at Tom’s neck and Tom’s fingers tightened in his hair; their pulses quickened, until fear of being caught finally separated them. Chris softly touched his hand to Tom’s face one last time, index finger sweeping over an eyebrow before he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder and started his descent. Tom bent out the window, watching him go.

“Be careful,” he whispered.

Chris hopped down onto the ground and set the ladder back on its side against the wall. Straightening, he looked up at Tom. He waved and mouthed a silent goodnight. He barely heard Tom’s reply but he saw his mouth move, those lips that only moments before had been on his own.

Chris’s breath caught in his throat as he did his best to forge into his mind the image of Tom leaning out that window, looking down at him, missing him already.

**

Chris disappeared through the gate and Tom stood frozen at the open window, fingers gripping the wooden frame.

“Tom?”

He spun and saw his dad in the doorway, holding a glass of water.

“Sorry. I just needed some fresh air. And I, uh, I thought I heard something.” He turned back to the window and lowered it into place, locking it. Dropping the blinds, he heard his dad moving in the room behind him. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

“Probably just Stephen’s dogs again.” Stephen was their neighbor and had two German Shepherds that Tom liked to pet when he ran into them on the street. “Twice they’ve gotten out of their yard.”

Tom barely heard him. He desperately needed to get out of his boxer shorts. He wanted to shower but would need help with his bandages. He could probably remove them on his own, but he needed help putting them back on. The skin at the curve where his neck met his shoulder still ached from where Chris had sucked at it and he knew he couldn’t take his shirt off now. He climbed back under the covers, pretending to get more comfortable.

His dad handed him the glass of water and he took a sip of it, glad it was dark enough in his room that his red face couldn’t be seen.

“How’s the fever?” His dad felt his forehead and smiled reassuringly. “Still a little warm.”

“A bit.”

“Let us know if you need anything. Take your pill already?”

Tom nodded. “Thanks, dad.” He put the glass on his bedside drawer.

His dad left quietly, shutting the door behind him. Tom let out his breath. He rolled to his other side, grimacing when his skin pulled tightly on his back. He didn’t relax until he heard his dad close the door to his own bedroom. Spotting his second pillow, he pulled it close and groaned when he brought it up to his nose. It smelled of Chris. Already he missed him. Watching him leave through the gate and around the corner, Tom had forgotten how to breathe.

He wished he had been able to make Chris come. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave so unsatisfied. But the look on Chris’s face as he braced half out the window, that raw hunger in his eyes as he reached back to kiss him, again and again. That look made Tom curl around the pillow in pleasure. And the biting. He’d never been bitten before. But when Chris bit his lip, when he bit the bruise on his shoulder, and just now at the window, pinching the skin of his neck with his teeth, all created a searing heat that shot right to his groin, making him feel heavier. He was finding that he loved the bites, very much; just as much as Chris apparently liked to give them.

His hands. The way those large hands, veined and tanned from his hours playing basketball outside, held him with just the right amount of pressure. Chris was capable of much damage with those hands, as evident by his reaction and instinct to Shaw’s presence outside Tom’s room. But he touched Tom so gently, with reverence, a soft skimming that only hinted at his true power when Chris forgot himself, when his focus on Tom became too much and his hands tightened, not painfully, but like a claiming.

He still wondered at what Chris would have done if he’d arrived on time to catch Shaw. Tom knew he would have confronted him, but to what end? The last thing he wanted was for either of them to be in that kind of trouble.

He frowned in the dark. He could already hear what Chris would say to that. _Fuck that, Tom. He hurt you. He started this. If he didn’t consider that by messing with you, he also messed with me, well that’s his fault._

But they were just teenagers. But nearly at the end of that. Tom turned eighteen in February. He briefly wondered when Chris’s birthday was.

He sighed. They were students who had no leverage over a teacher. What could they do? Who would believe them?

Tom closed his eyes, intent on forgetting the whole thing. He inhaled the scent Chris left behind. He could feel himself getting hard again and buried his face in the pillow, stifling his growl of frustration. Quickly, before losing his nerve, he got up from bed and went into the bathroom, making no noise in the hallway. Turning on the light, he peeled off his clothes. His boxers were still damp and sticky with his release. He tossed them aside. Once nude, he studied himself in the mirror. He looked in bad shape, gaunt with bruises under his eyes and at his temple, cheekbone, and forehead. But his fingers rose and trailed along his stomach, curving to his waist, following the path Chris’s hands had taken. And there. Right on his shoulder was the beginning of a hickey. Tinted red and turning purple in the center, Tom stared at it in amazement. He fingered the edge, remembering the way those lips had felt there, the small moans given, as if Tom were the most delectable thing Chris had ever tasted. His hand gripping at his ribcage, fingers curled around the back of his skull, and then finally shifting lower, until Tom was wound so tight he finally came undone in his arms.

His eyes closed, feeling his cock grow harder. He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder. Angling his arms behind his back, he slowly tugged the first bandage off. The one on his upper back was trickier, but he managed to peel it off with one hand after a couple of tries. The skin was slightly bruised and had a yellow hue. He sighed and turned away from his reflection.

Once in the shower, he immediately felt better, the tension rolling off his weary muscles. Washing himself with a bar of soap, Tom let the steam rise around him. His hand, softened by soapy suds, traveled from his neck and down his stomach to wrap around his cock. The water sprayed down on his head, feeling like tiny butterfly kisses on his throat and it suddenly felt like Chris was in the shower with him. He leaned his forearm on the wall, pressing his mouth to it, holding in the moans that were so close to bubbling up. His hand pumped over and over, his breath caught, remembering the heaviness of Chris on him, legs bracketing his own, lips tender on his skin. His back arched and his hips thrust into his hand before he came, stifling a cry in the crook of his arm, Chris’s name a scream in his mind but only a small whimper in the lonely bathroom. His limbs trembled and nearly gave out, but he held his balance.

He stood a moment, holding himself against the wall to catch his breath. He washed himself again and then turned the water off, grabbing a towel from the rack just outside the shower curtain. Reaching under the sink for the box of extra butterfly bandages, he picked out a clean one and peeled away the one on his forehead. It hurt a bit more, but the cut seemed to be closing nicely. It was the bruising that was alarming. Happy that the swelling was going down, the bruising would take a lot longer to go away. It was still an angry purple and blue, red tinting the edges. Quickly placing the new bandage in place, he discarded everything else and stepped into the hallway, towel wrapped around his waist.

He almost went to his parents’ room to ask for help with his back but he actually didn’t care enough to bother. He was too tired. A combination of the pain pill and two orgasms within a half hour had exhausted him. He made it back to his room without falling over, throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper. He slipped into some new boxers and carefully lay face down on the bed. He buried his head in that same pillow, his eyes blinking slower and slower, his last sight the broken line of moonlight filtering in from the window through which Chris had disappeared.

**

Chris jogged home, pushing through the pain. His erection had softened somewhat during that terrifying scene on the floor, Tom’s dad just a few feet away. But kissing Tom goodbye, frantic to commit his scent to memory, wanting to nip at every inch of his skin, and then watching Tom at the window from the short distance that might as well have been as far as the moon, well, his interest came roaring back. He was glad it was dark out, even if his cock was somewhat behaving right now. Every time he closed his eyes, an image of Tom flared into his vision, seemingly burned onto his retinas. Tom arching, mouth open, hands clasping, lashes fluttering. He wished it had been brighter in the room. How he’d wanted to see the flush of orgasm spreading over his skin, see his eyes darkening with arousal. Every bite of his lip, furrowed brow, made more and more evident by that hesitant desire he was beginning to exhibit, effectively anchoring Chris to Tom’s every want and longing.

He groaned out loud, the streets dark and empty around him. He pushed into a sprint, shoes smacking loudly on the pavement. He needed to get home and take a very cold shower. 

He ran up his front drive and yanked open the door. His father was in the kitchen, wiping down the island counter.

“Hey dad,” he said, stopping in the doorway, surprised to see him up so late.

His father glanced at the microwave clock. It was half past ten at night. “Just getting in?”

“Yeah. I went for a run. Took longer than usual.” He looked down, hoping the lie wasn’t apparent on his face. It was really only half a lie. “Mom?”

“At the hospital. An emergency caesarean. I’m just cleaning up after our late dinner.”

Chris nodded. “Okay. I’m going to shower and then head to bed.”

He was turning away when his dad spoke. “How’s Tom?”

Chris stopped and looked back. “Better. He’s home now. Resting. I was there earlier.”

“That’s great. Really great. Spider bites, huh?”

Chris shrugged. “I know. He’s got some time to get better before school.”

“Good. And he should be okay in time.” His dad hesitated a moment. “If you don’t mind my asking. Are you and him…?” His dad’s slight embarrassment was only evident in how tightly he was holding the dishtowel.

Chris felt his face flush. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Are we together? Yes. We are.” He looked down. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Not at all.” His dad turned to face him fully. “Your mother and I just wanted to remind you to be careful. And safe.”

Chris blinked. His arousal was long gone. But he knew this conversation had to happen sometime, even if he couldn’t help awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other.

“We, uh. We will. Don’t worry about that.”

His dad resumed wiping the counter. “You don’t have to hide anything from your mother and I, Chris. You’ve always known this. But don’t let the criticisms of others stop you.” He smiled sadly. “And there will always be criticism.”

Chris felt a rush of affection for his father. “Thanks, dad. I’ll remember that."

“Good.” His dad smiled softly. “I’m glad he’s doing better.”

“Me, too.”

They said goodnight and Chris turned away.

He took the stairs two at a time. He removed his shoes in his room and then jumped in the shower. His hair had grown down to his shoulders over the summer and he fingered the tips, wondering if he should cut it. But then his thoughts strayed to Tom and how he had gripped it in his shaking hands, his touch feather soft but desperate. Chris leaned against the shower wall, amazed that he elicited these feelings in Tom. That Tom, while obviously nervous and tentative, had slowly unveiled himself to Chris, more than he’d ever witnessed. The sheer awakening of Tom’s yearnings, it was fascinating and delighted Chris.

He rubbed his face in the water, reliving their intimate moment from earlier. He lifted his arm to rinse his hair when he saw them. Two long blunt lines on the underside of his bicep. Scratches. He couldn’t remember Tom doing that, but it must have been as he came. That fucking perfect instant Chris had felt Tom’s entire body clench and shudder; those exquisite two seconds Tom’s body went completely still, his own weight lifting him in Chris’s arms, the orgasm tightening the line of his spine, elevating him.

He wanted to make Tom feel that way over and over. At that moment, Tom falling apart before him, he was oblivious to everything else. And Tom had been gripping his arm, gasping, as if afraid he would plunge away if Chris let him go.

But he wouldn’t let him go. I will never let him fall, Chris thought, faintly touching the scratch lines with his fingertips, drops of water gathering on his skin. They were both marked, in their own way, for only each other.

Nobody would separate them. Not their classmates, who really needed to get over themselves and mind their own damn business. He just knew someone somewhere was going to remark on them somehow. And definitely not Shaw, with whom Chris had been so livid, and quite frankly disappointed, as he watched his car drive away. Chris clenched his fist and rested his head on his forearm. Next time, if there was a next time, Shaw would be sorry.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, friends. I had pages and pages and pages written ahead, but I've slowly caught up to myself in chapters. I am working steadily to get this done because I am so in love with these characters and their story. I still anticipate updating twice a week, usually Fridays and Mondays. Thank you for all your support and love and encouragement. It means so much to me!

The day after Chris snuck into Tom’s room, he invited him over to watch some movies. He had offered to pick him up, but Tom declined, saying he felt like walking. Before leaving for work, his mother placed new bandages on his back, reprimanding him, not unkindly, for going the whole night without them.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said. “With everything.”

She shook her head before smiling at him, nodding silently. She touched the bruise on his face faintly. He stopped himself from wincing. “This looks terrible. However did you do it?”

He swallowed and looked down. “I told you. I fell.” He laughed, trying to stop her from thinking about it. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

She sighed and cupped his chin. “It hurts me to look at you like this.” She shook her head. “Here, take this.” She held out the white pain pill for him. He’d tried to avoid taking it that morning because he knew he was going to see Chris, but she had her stern face on, so he didn’t argue.

The whole walk to Chris’s house, Tom remembered the intimacy of the night before. The way he’d writhed in his arms, the sensations he was used to eliciting when by himself amplified a million times over with Chris present, bringing out those feelings instead of Tom forcing them to the surface when alone.

His shoulder ached with the bruise Chris left behind and he touched it briefly through his shirt, smiling at the memory. He dug his hands into his pockets and walked faster.

At the door, Chris invited him, barefoot in jeans and a white t-shirt. His hair was up in a small ponytail. Tom stood mutely before him, crossing over the threshold after a moment of quiet staring. Chris closed the door, smiling with surprise when Tom slowly lifted his arms to wrap around his neck. They stood in the front room holding each other.

Tom pulled back.

“Hi,” Chris said, hands anchored behind Tom’s waist.

“Hey.” Tom placed a kiss on Chris’s cheek, pulling away quickly, eyes down. But Chris squeezed him close and caught his neck with one hand, kissing his lips.

“I missed you,” Chris whispered.

Tom smiled and kissed him back, a tiny sigh escaping.

Chris let his lips wander down the side of Tom’s neck until they hovered over the collar of his shirt. He slowly slid the edge of the material down so the dark purple mark appeared. Tom held still for him.

He looked up. “Was it okay that I did this?” His thumb skimmed over the bruised skin.

Tom met his eyes. “Yes.” He gave a small smile. “I liked it.”

Chris bent his head and kissed the hickey, letting the shirt fall back into place. “Thank you.”

He let his eyes wander over Tom’s face, his gaze settling on the bruise on his temple. He sighed and traced his thumb so softly over the discolored skin of Tom’s cheekbone, his eyes following the bruise’s progress up to his forehead.

“He didn’t do it,” Tom whispered. “Chris.”

Chris met his eyes. “I believe you, Tom. But you were hurt. That’s what I don’t like.”

Unable to stand the scrutiny, Tom looked down. Chris wrapped him in a hug again, breathing into his hair. Taking his hand, he led him up the stairs, mindful of Tom’s balance. In his room, they sat on the floor before the TV and picked out a movie from Chris’s collection.

“You ever see this one?” Chris said, popping the _Blackhawk Down_ disc into his PlayStation consol. Tom shook his head. “I like it. It’s intense and smart and very sad. Lots of shooting.” Tom smiled at his apparent joy for so much gun violence. “Typical war movie.”

They settled in, arms touching, hands joined, legs spread before them.

Tom was riveted. The story was tragic from the beginning, a band of soldiers becoming stranded in a war torn country, fighting to get out while still struggling to maintain the original mission. A few parts surprised him and he jumped at the sudden noise, clenching Chris’s hand.

“Sorry,” he whispered, eyes still on the screen. Chris just smiled, watching him. Tom could feel his eyes on him, but instead of feeling awkward or uncomfortable, Chris’s attention awakened tiny butterflies in his stomach and he scooted closer.

He kept holding back yawns, not wanting Chris to think he was bored with the movie or with him. Quite the opposite, on both counts. But his drowsiness was hitting him hard. He wanted to stay awake to finish it, but his head felt so heavy and it was so nice to rest it against Chris’s shoulder. When had he put his head on his shoulder?

“Tom.”

Tom blinked slowly.

“Babe.”

Tom closed his eyes.

“When did you take your pill?”

He thought. “About an hour before I got here.”

He heard Chris lower the volume on the TV and then made a move to stand up. Tom jostled a bit, looking up at him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Chris said, holding out a hand. Tom took it and was hauled to his feet. Chris moved away.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t the movie that made me sleepy.”

Chris turned to him, surprised. “I know that, Tom. I just thought you’d want to nap because of your pill. We can finish the movie later.”

Tom nodded. “Oh.” He smiled sheepishly.

Chris continued, “Besides, no one can fall asleep during a Ridley Scott film unless they absolutely can’t help it. In fact, we have to see _Gladiator_ one of these days.” He flashed Tom a wide grin and Tom chuckled.

Chris cleared off some of the stuff on his bed, rolling a basketball to the floor, and gathered up some papers and clothes.

He gestured to the bed and said, “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to run downstairs and bring up some water.” He touched Tom’s hand with his fingers and then left the room. Tom removed his shoes and pushed them under the bed frame. He sent his dad a quick text, letting him know he was watching movies with Chris and then put his phone on silent.

Crawling over the bed to where it was pushed up against the wall, he lowered himself to the mattress with a small groan, his fatigue steamrolling over him. Also, because the entire bed smelled like Chris. He curled up on his side and closed his eyes, darkness creeping in on the edge of his vision. A few minutes passed and he heard some noises in the room. Opening one eye, he saw Chris bend down to turn off the PlayStation and TV.

He came to stand by the bed, looking down at Tom. Tom lifted his hand and Chris took it, climbing up and lying at Tom’s side, facing him.

They stared at each other, Tom’s heavy eyes frustrating him. Slowly, he stretched his hand across the foot of space between them and touched Chris’s chest.

Chris closed his eyes and breathed in. “Can I hold you?” he asked.

Tom, about to lose his battle with staying awake, nodded. Chris moved his pillow closer and then inched over until Tom leaned into this embrace, face pressing against his throat. Chris wrapped his arms around him and Tom sighed happily, his hand coming around Chris’s waist.

“I feel so safe with you,” he said, stroking his back timidly, body relaxing and easing into a shared cozy weight with Chris.

Chris stroked his hair, his blond curls bouncing back into place stubbornly. “I’m glad, Tom. Because you are safe. I want to protect you, with everything I have. Can I do that?”

Tom nodded lazily, releasing one final exhale against Chris’s neck. “Yes, Christopher.”

**

Tom awoke to a faint darkness, an ephemeral darkness, the darkness of dusk. He was wrapped in someone’s arms and the shape next to him was blurred by his sleepy vision. While his mind resisted full wakefulness, a tiny part sounded like an alarm. A terrible fear took hold of his senses, a memory of an embrace he didn’t want, so forceful, so rough. His spine went rigid and a terrified whisper burst from his lips, “Stop!” It was Shaw next to him all of a sudden, leaning in, pushing. He braced his arms on the man’s chest and pressed at it, this presence he couldn’t exactly detect yet still feared, not wanting to take that chance ever.

A sleepy voice beside him: “Tom? What is it?”

Tom winced and tried to sit up, but arms pulled tight around him, a hand stroked the uninjured side of his face, so gentle, so familiar.

“Tom. Wake up. It’s okay. Tom, it’s me.”

But the touch was suddenly right. There was nothing terrifying about this touch. His eyes slowly opened and he stared up at a shadow he instantly recognized.

“Chris,” he whispered. Chris was leaning over him, arm pillowing Tom’s head, the other slowly stroking his neck.

“Yes, it’s me. You were dreaming, I think.”

Tom said nothing. He reached up and linked his arms around Chris’s neck, pulling him down for a full hug.

“Hey,” Chris said softly. “Are you okay?”

Tom shook his head. “It’s nothing. Sorry. I couldn’t wake up all the way. Like I was stuck.” He rubbed his eyes and tried to soak in as much of the heat Chris radiated from his body. His panic was subsiding, helped along by the scent of Chris surrounding him.

Chris brushed his thumb over the hollow of Tom’s throat. “Are you sure?” His eyebrows scrunched slightly and Tom felt a flutter in his stomach.

“Yes, I’m fine.” He gave Chris a small smile and made to sit up. Chris leaned back to give him room. They sat on his bed, still sleepy. But something had zapped into Tom’s veins, an apprehension that wouldn’t fade away. He kept looking around the room, almost expecting someone else to be there. Chris was doing a good job of picking up on it, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong.

“Where are your parents?”

Chris shrugged. “Working. It’s earlier than it looks.” He stretched toward his desk and picked up his phone. “It’s after five. They’ll be home soon.”

Tom patted his jeans and pulled out his phone. There was a text from his dad.

_Ok. Be back for dinner at 7. Invite Chris over._

He looked up at Chris and smiled. “Dinner?”

**

School started in a week. They spent every waking moment with each other, except at night, during which they would text or Chris would go for his run. Even then, it was hard to separate. They always parted just within the side gate beneath Tom’s window, Chris pressing him against the wall, mouthing at his neck, Tom trying not to moan as he clutched at Chris. The wall and gate were high enough that they wouldn’t be seen from the street, even with their admirable height, but they stilled every time headlights flashed by, laughing softly in the darkness.

Shaw never made another appearance outside Tom’s window, at least not that Tom knew of. But alone at night, Tom would wake in a cold sweat, thinking there was an approaching shadow in his room. He would pull himself up the bed and shine his phone light into the dark, but nothing would ever be there. He wouldn’t tell Chris about these moments. It would only upset him and Tom didn’t want him to worry needlessly about it. He would simply hold onto the pillow that still smelled like him and would drift back to sleep again.

Chris began routing his runs to include Tom’s street. Tom was at his desk one night preparing his backpack with new binders and clean paper when he saw Chris jogging by. He stood from his desk and leaned against the window, smiling wide. Chris glanced up and waved, his T-shirt sticking to his chest, earphone wires bobbing softly with his steps. Tom waved back, a feeling of ease relaxing his breathing.

They spent most of their time at each other’s houses, mainly alone as their parents worked during the day, and in Chris’s case, sometimes most of the night. Tom was steadily gaining his strength back, but he still struggled to catch his breath and was often very sore in the morning, his back muscles slowly loosening up bit by bit as the hours went by.

Because he didn’t want to sound repetitive, Tom didn’t share his still-present concern about the fall auditions with Chris. Chris, though, could read him better than he thought. Sensing when Tom would drift to a place where worry reigned, he would grab him close and attack his neck with tiny butterfly kisses, tickling Tom until they were both laughing so hard they fell to the floor. He soon forgot why he had even been worried as Chris made true on his promise of a tickle fight and they both ended up on the floor, panting, faces so close they could count each other’s eyelashes.

They often found themselves at the park near their neighborhood. There was an area by the basketball courts where Tom would sit while Chris practiced by himself. The trees formed a cozy circle facing the courts, their canopies acting as wide, dark umbrellas that kept Tom cool. He brought his copy of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ with him the Saturday afternoon before school, marking all the lines for the character Puck. He occasionally flicked his eyes up and watched Chris shooting, dribbling the ball with ease, running lay-ups and other complicated skill sets that Tom knew nothing about. He’d yet to miss a shot.

Tom stared as the sun shone brightly off of his shoulders, sweat staining his sleeveless shirt.

Right as Chris was going up to shoot, his eyes met Tom’s. The ball left his hands and sailed in a clean arc, bouncing noisily off the rim and over to the other side of the court.

_Miss._

Tom laughed softly, feeling the heat from his blush creep up his neck. Chris watched the ball roll away and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. He jogged over to where Tom sat reading and plopped down beside him.

“That was your fault.”

“And how do you figure that? I was way over here.”

Chris leaned close and nuzzled his cheek. “You distract me.” 

Tom felt chills race over his skin and he gently pushed Chris away. “Remind me to never attend your games then.”

“I would love it if you went.”

“Not if I get blamed when something goes wrong.”

Chris caught his hand and kissed his knuckles softly. “Not possible.”

Growing up, Tom liked to play soccer, kicking the ball around and practicing his footwork. Just thinking about doing something similar made him almost groan with fatigue. The spider bites had sapped him of his strength. He always felt breathless and achy. His condition made him hyperaware of how strong and healthy Chris was by comparison. He found himself simply staring at Chris sometimes, his physical endurance no doubt incredible.

“Why do you stare?” Chris asked. He tapped Tom’s nose with his index finger and Tom blinked, suddenly embarrassed at having been caught.

“Sorry. I’m just admiring.”

“Oh? You must tell me now.”

“You, sir, are getting in the habit of making me say things I don’t want to.”

Chris laughed, his head thrown back, easy. “It’s just my charm.”

“Intimidation, more like.”

Chris feigned a hurt look. “Do I intimidate you, Thomas? But why?”

Tom shrugged, rubbing his thumb along Chris’s wrist. “Not really intimidation, I guess. I just really admire how strong you are.”

“And you don’t think you’re strong?”

Tom scoffed. “Compared to you?” 

“You know, I would totally wrestle you right now if there weren’t children running around the jungle gym and you weren’t on the mend.”

“You would only further prove my point. ‘On the mend’? What have you been reading?”

“Nothing. I just listen to you.” Chris squeezed Tom’s pinkie. “How is your back?”

“Better. It doesn’t burn as much. I feel so tired, though. All the time. I don’t like it.”

“I imagine your system took a bit of a hit. I’ve told you before….”

“Give myself some time. I know.”

“See. You listen to me, too.”

They smiled at each other.

On the ground beside them, Chris’s phone started vibrating. He picked it up and opened the message.

Tom went back to reading but looked up again when Chris spoke.

“Just as I thought.”

Tom looked up to catch sight of a rather wolfish grin. He must have looked confused. 

“Want to go to a party with me tonight?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! First, I apologize for the late update. Work has been super busy and I had a birthday last week that took up a bit of time, as I traveled and spent lots of lazy hours with family and friends. I will be updating once a week now, to catch up and get new chapters written. Thank you for all your support and encouragement. I love you!  
> P.S. This chapter is very long. I couldn't find a natural stopping place so, there ya go.

After the park, Chris dropped him off and then went home to shower and change. Tom did the same, albeit much less enthusiastically. He had quietly chosen what he was going to wear, standing before his closet, worrying at his thumbnail before finally selecting dark blue jeans and a black shirt from a drama camp he attended two summers ago. The wording was faded and grey, but it was his favorite. Flopping down on his bed, he laced up his black tennis shoes and then lay back, waiting until Chris text him that he was outside.

Chris looked amazing in his dark blue jeans and red shirt. Just inside his turned down collar, Tom could see a leather cord hanging there. His long hair was in a small bun at the nape of his neck and Tom had to resist stroking it.

He led him upstairs, his finger scratching lightly at the itch on his temple.

Tom had opted for a flesh colored Band-Aid on his cut instead of the white bandage, but he couldn’t do anything about the bruising that didn’t involve elaborate stage makeup. He hoped it was dark where they were going so it couldn’t be seen as easily. The pain in his back wasn’t so severe anymore, so he skipped his pain tablet, not wanting to feel vague and diminished tonight.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

Chris came to stand before him. “Why not?”

“Because,” he started, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair, “your friends have this impression of you and I think I will just ruin--.”

Chris kissed him.

He blinked, always surprised when Chris did things like this out of nowhere. He moaned faintly, then gasped when Chris bit his lip, a nip, a tiny, tiny sting that immediately calmed Tom and had him leaning his weight on Chris.

Chris pulled his head back, arms anchored behind Tom. “I’m stopping you right there. You will not ruin anything. This is just a simple last-weekend-of-freedom-before-school-starts party that people usually throw.” He paused. “I was thinking this might be our opportunity to show up as a couple. People see us together here, it won’t be so much of a surprise at school.”

Tom looked down and stared at the seams of his shirt, knowing he was right. “What if people start saying things…about us and what if…” He trailed off into silence.

Chris raised his chin. “If they do, then they do. People will always talk. We can’t let criticisms stop us,” he said, echoing what his father said to him. “But you won’t ever be by yourself, okay. I will be there. Trust me, people just need to see us together and then we’ll be old news. And besides, not everyone at school thinks like that. There are other couples like us at school, with friends of their own. People who don’t care about those kinds of personal choices. You’ve just been locking yourself away in that dusty old theatre and not seeing so for yourself.”

Tom accepted Chris’s tiny kiss and smiled. “You’re right.” He stared down at his feet. The silence stretched. Then, “I love it when you do that,” he whispered.

Chris stroked his arm. “Do what?”

Tom couldn’t breathe, but this knowledge was too big for him. He inhaled and released it slow. “When you bite me.”

Chris was frozen. Tom’s eyes were wide, pupils huge. Saying nothing, Chris pulled Tom closer, grazing his lips along his hurt temple, down his cheekbone and finally coming to rest against his ear. He took Tom’s earlobe in his mouth, his teeth clamping on teasingly.

Tom let out a small cry and rose to his tiptoes, hands gripping Chris’s shoulders.

Chris wrapped his arm around his waist to hold him steady, his mouth breathing a warm circle against Tom’s neck.

“Jesus, Chris.”

Bending him back, Chris lowered them to the bed. Tom gripped him tight, turning his head at a better angle for Chris to kiss and scrape and moan against it, bodies grinding. He whispered his name and Chris lifted his head, feeling Tom’s arousal pressing against his own, hardening.

When Tom shifted an inch, he shuddered. Lowering his forehead to Tom’s chest, he held still, breathing heavily. Fingers crept along the nape of his neck, smoothing his hair.

They couldn’t do this. Not now. But fuck if Tom didn’t feel amazing, like light and cool air and warm embraces all at once.

“Tom?”

“Yes, Christopher?” He gritted his teeth at that breathy whisper. _Goddammit._

“We’ll never leave this room, Tom, if I so much as look at you right now.”

His hips pushed down before he could stop himself and his eyes squeezed shut, a sound like roaring in his ears. He felt more than heard the tiny whimper Tom made, the way his long fingers tightened on the back of his head. Chris fisted his hands in the blanket, his moan stifled in Tom’s shirt.

It took every ounce of will but he lifted himself and flopped onto his back beside Tom, his chest rising with air he couldn’t seem to get enough of. “Just give me a minute. I just need a moment.”

They lay there, the ceiling a poor substitute to what they really wanted to see. Chris’s erection was no doubt tenting his jeans but he kept his eyes shut tight, not daring to look at Tom now, lying there beautiful and entirely his. _Think, think, think,_ he willed himself, desperate to control the enormous emotions in his chest.

A finger slowly wrapped around his pinkie and he opened his eye a fraction. Tom was staring at him, the smallest smile on his lips.

“I feel it, too,” he murmured.

“A massive hard on?”

Tom laughed, fully open, head pushed back, his long throat exposed. Chris eyed it and swallowed. Tom relaxed into the comforter again and gazed at him. “Yes. Something like that.”

He couldn’t think straight. He laughed shakily, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’re in big trouble, aren’t we?”

Tom closed his eyes and smiled. “Yes. I think we are.”

**

Chris could tell Tom was nervous. He sat in the passenger seat fidgeting with his cell phone, practically wringing it in his hands. But he honestly thought this was a good choice for them. His friend Daniel had text him about the party. It was being held at Stephanie’s house, the same girl who threw the party earlier in the summer, around the same time he and Tom were first getting to know each other. Chris had only seen her a few times and wouldn’t consider her a friend, but Daniel assured him that lots of people would be there, including most of the team. He didn’t want to do something that made Tom uncomfortable, so he would take his lead tonight.

It was ten o’clock by the time they pulled up to Stephanie’s house, a large Victorian on its own land twenty minutes from the school. Chris had to park his car further down the darkened road, along the ditch by the shoulder.

Standing outside the car, a breeze blew over them and Tom turned, leaning in, nose hovering just over his skin. “You smell so good. I don’t have any cologne.”

Chris blushed slightly, looking down. “I just sprayed something on before I left my house. You can use mine.”

“You brought it with you?”

“No.” He pulled him into a huge bear hug and meshed their chests together, swaying with Tom in place. “There. Now you’ll smell like me.”

Tom laughed, bringing his shirt up to sniff it. “Why do I feel this is another territorial thing?” Chris winked at him. “Let’s go.”

They walked up to the front of the house and he heard Tom take a deep breath. He figured Tom had never been to a party like this before, but they really weren’t all that people made them out to be. The music was usually too loud and smoke stung one’s eyes and irritated the throat. He liked to hang outside where the air was clearer and the pulsing beat of the music still saturated the atmosphere but didn’t completely drown it.

Several people were lounging by the front steps, smoking discreetly and drinking from red plastic cups. Chris didn’t recognize them and assumed they were from other schools. Tom went up the steps first and the closer they got the louder the music thumped from within the house. Chris opened the front door and they were met with a semi-darkness interrupted by red and blue and green lights flashing everywhere. Chris felt Tom stiffen beside him and he put his hand on the small of his back. Tom looked at him and nodded. They stepped in and were enveloped by the multitude of people packed into the front room. Tom looked ready to blend into the nearest wall, so Chris took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. He kept an eye out for strange looks, but everybody was swaying together, oblivious to everything except their own rhythm. It was erotic, in a way, how the girls leaned their bodies on each other, grinding against themselves and the boys dancing with them, hair bouncing, and jewelry sparkling. The more solid colors of the boys’ clothing created a rather startling blocky pattern that his eyes struggled to follow as the lights flew and the music bled into his very skin.

Making their way was slow going. He felt Tom’s arm pull tight and turned in time to catch a girl running her hands over Tom’s shoulders, trying to dance with him. Chris was about to step in when Tom took one of her hands and gently spun her around, where another guy caught her around the waist and continued dancing with her.

He looked to Chris and smiled, brushing his thumb over their knuckles. Chris smiled back and continued making a path for them through the room.

The kitchen was crowded with bodies, so he stopped by a towering potted plant in the living room and bent to Tom’s ear. “I’m going to get us something to drink. Okay?” He had to shout and looked to see if Tom had heard him. “Want to come with me?”

Tom shook his head and crossed his arms. “I’ll wait here.”

Chris squeezed his hand once and then pushed his way to the kitchen.

**

Tom watched as Chris walked away, pausing only when a group of girls practically fell out of the entryway. He let them pass and then disappeared into the kitchen. Folding his arms over his chest made him feel a bit more confident, standing there in a room vibrating with heat and sound and bodies. A haze of smoke hovered over the swaying crowd and he vaguely wondered how this Stephanie girl managed to get her home back to the way it was before her parents returned from wherever they happened to be.

He touched his earlobe and looked around at all the people that didn’t know, couldn’t know, how he felt in that moment, like the room was smaller than it actually was and he felt immensely greater than his happiness, all this wonderful electric happiness, could contain.

He pressed his head to the wall and closed his eyes, some type of House track rolling over him, making his ears ache and his teeth rattle, but he didn’t mind losing himself for a few moments at least. Not worrying about who sees or says what, with his vision shut off, he couldn’t anticipate or wonder about anything. He was beginning to see how the crowd could so easily be set adrift from reality.

The wall behind him thrummed and at first he didn’t hear his name being called, but then someone put their hand on his arm and his eyes snapped open. He straightened, expecting it to be Chris, but instead he found himself looking down at a very familiar face.

She gestured with her head and together they forced their way through the dancers. He tried watching for Chris but not seeing him anywhere, he followed his friend out the back door.

**

In the kitchen, there was an array of drinks inside bins of melting ice. Every kind of soda was available, including punch and bottles of water. Chris was scooping ice into two cups when a guy stepped up to him, tripping before settling by the counter.

“If you are looking for something stronger, Stephanie has a little something upstairs. Let me know, okay?”

Chris nodded. “Thanks, man. Maybe later.”

The guy laughed loudly at something behind Chris and then stumbled away. Filling the cups with soda, he made his way out of the kitchen, holding the drinks up near his face, his height giving him an advantage over his shorter peers. He started for the potted plant but froze when he saw that Tom wasn’t there.

His eyes skimmed over the room and not spotting him anywhere, he turned and made his way around the corner. The house was like a maze.

“Chris!”

Daniel Keller was making his way over.

“Glad you could make it! Did you just get here?”

“Yeah. Just now. I don’t recognize half these people.”

“Same. Doesn’t help that you disappeared on us this summer,” he said with a laugh, smacking Chris on the shoulder jokingly. Chris shrugged. “The rest of the boys are outside though.” He glanced down at the drinks in his hands. “You come with someone?”

Chris nodded and, finally spotting Tom’s blond curls beyond the glass doors, told Daniel he’d be outside.

He found Tom standing by a rose garden talking with a short thin girl with black hair down to her waist. She had on blue tights with a silver blouse and was currently in an animated conversation with Tom, who was listening intently.

Approaching Tom’s side, he held out his drink to him.

“Chris,” Tom said, smiling, curling his fingers around the red cup. “This is Julie. She’s in Drama with me.”

Chris held his hand out to her, introducing himself.

“Tom told me you play basketball? I confess, I don’t make it to too many games.” She laughed sheepishly.

“Yeah. I play power forward.” He took a sip of his drink. “You trying out for the fall play?”

Her face lit up prettily. “Yes! I’m going for queen of the fairies,” she said regally, bowing deeply.

“It’s going to be a great audition,” Tom said. “You’ll blow them out of the water.”

“What, me? You will blow us out of the water.” She leaned closer to Chris and whispered conspiratorially, “Tom, here, is an amazing actor.”

“No, no, I’m not,” Tom started, but Chris put his arm around his shoulders and answered, “I know he is. I’ve seen him in plays before.”

Julie smiled widely at them over her cup, her eyes crinkling a bit.

The conversation veered to their families, the lights from twinkling little bulbs above their heads casting a soft glow. Julie told them about her vacation over the summer, her hand occasionally shooting out to touch Tom or Chris on the arm, enthusiastically detailing the fish she saw swimming among the coral or how a thunderstorm blew over their hotel, cutting off the power so that they huddled in their rooms watching the awesome power of lightning, rain and thunder make battle. She had this endearing way of gesticulating and drawing her audience in to feel like her stories were also theirs. Chris could see how she would do well on the stage. He didn’t recall her from any of the plays he’d seen over the past year, but then again, he wasn’t ever able to tear his attention from Tom.

“I hope I can make this tan work for the role of queen. I mean, as the fairy queen, she probably gets lots of sun in the forest, right?” Her tiny laugh at the end showed how unconcerned she was about the whole thing. She checked her cup. “I’m going for another soda. You want any?”

They shook their heads.

“It was great meeting you, Chris.”

“You too.”

“And I’m so sorry about your incident over the summer, Tom. I hope you feel better soon!”

She departed in a cloud of floral perfume.

Chris hugged Tom around the waist. “She was nice.”

“She is. She asked about my face. Kind of hard to miss.” He smiled shyly, looking down. “I told her I was here with my boyfriend.”

Chris turned to him, grinning. “You did?”

Tom blushed and nodded. Chris kissed his shoulder discreetly, desperate to show how much that meant to him.

They both turned when a loud splash sounded behind them. A group of girls had stripped to their underclothes and jumped into the pool. Two guys joined them a second later. People gathered by the water and cheered them on. Chris led Tom to a stone bench within the garden, which gave them a view of the entire backyard. Some boys came by to greet Chris, hugging him affectionately and asking about his summer. Chris introduced Tom to everyone and they all responded kindly to him, most a little surprised, but responding well, asking him about himself. A few chairs were drawn up and soon a small circle of Chris’s friends formed around them, exchanging an easy banter that had Tom laughing, although he didn’t say much. He had to repeat his story about his face a few times, the bruise becoming something of an icebreaker.

Chris felt Tom slowly begin to unwind, relaxing in the face of what he probably thought would have been a trial of sorts. They sipped at their drinks, the shimmer of the water’s movement reflecting on their faces. He held his cup with one hand and sat back, letting his leg rest against Tom’s.

Seeing most of the team again had him almost giddy. A few times over the summer, he’d played basketball with some of them, but catching up before another grueling school year always had its own taste of nostalgia.

There was one face missing that he didn’t regret wasn’t there and hoped he didn’t have to see again until the season started. And even then he would be a pain to deal with. The dirty looks and blatant efforts to outshine him. He drank some more soda and shook off his negative feelings.

The other guys were talking amongst themselves and he took the opportunity to bump Tom’s shoulder playfully. “What do you think? Everything you thought it would be?”

Tom smiled. “It’s great, actually. Your friends are really nice.”

“They can be your friends, too, you know.”

Tom scratched at the rim of his cup with a trim fingernail, smiling softly. “Maybe.”

They sat in quiet comfort, listening to the others. Tom shifted next to him.

“Do you know where the restroom is?”

“I don’t actually. But let me find out. You okay for a minute?”

Tom nodded. He stood and walked around the corner. There were more people than he remembered. He dodged and excused his way across the expansive yard, the warm night air making people feel more drunk than they probably were. He found Stephanie with a group of her friends by the other side of the pool. He tapped her shoulder and she turned, a huge smile forming on her face.

“The infamous Chris!” She pouted and touched his arm softly. “I’ve been trying to get you to come to my parties all summer.” Her hands were a bit clammy.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s been a busy few months.” He told her about summer school, hoping this would be excuse enough. “But this is nice. Great party and nice place, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well. Parents are always away, so what the hell.” She stepped closer. “Are you here alone?”

“No, actually. I have someone with me. Listen, this house is a beast. Do you mind showing me where your bathroom is?”

She laughed, tossing her head back. She pulled him a bit closer to the backdoor and gestured as she spoke. “Inside, down the first hallway and the last door on the left. It’s a dead end so you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” She hugged him before he could stop her and then she sauntered away. He went back and spotted Tom where he left him, hand on his chin, watching his friends talk away. He caught his eye and Tom stood, meeting him by the pool.

“Inside, down the first hallway and last door on the left. Want me to go with you?”

“No, that’s okay. I can find it.” He smiled and squeezed Chris’s arm. Chris watched him go, his blond head a few inches taller than everyone else. He sat back down on the bench and joined the conversation with his friends.

When Tom hadn’t returned after about ten minutes, he let his worry get the better of him and he excused himself. Walking into the house, he tried to convince himself that everything was okay. Maybe there was a line. Maybe he got lost. Maybe Julie snatched him into conversation again.

He traced the path Tom must have taken and found himself in the hallway Stephanie pointed out. There indeed were people waiting and Tom was next in line.

He lingered by the front of the hallway while Tom stepped in after two girls walked out.

The hallway was a bit distanced from the main room and the music wasn’t as loud here. He rested against the wall and entertained himself by watching the dancers through the elegant wooden columns of the staircase leading to the floors above. In the far corner, a couple was making out, the guy inching his hand up the girl’s leg.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He turned and smiled at Tom just behind him. “I am now.”

“Come to check I didn’t fall into a dusty armoire that took me into the vast land of Narnia?”

“Something like that.”

Tom hooked his finger into one of the belt loops of Chris’s pants and whispered, “My Christopher.” He pulled Chris a fraction of an inch closer, nodding toward the couple in the corner. “You know, something similar was done to me very recently.”

Chris felt his eyes widen at how Tom was openly flirting with him, his dulcet tone of voice making his mouth go dry. “Yeah?” Clearing his throat, he said, “And your opinion of these two?”

Tom practically breathed into his ear. “They have nothing on us.”

Vision wavering, Chris was about to kiss him when a voice interrupted.

“Oh wow, I can’t believe the rumor is true.”

Chris turned and saw one of his teammates standing in the hallway, a girl crowded under a long arm. It appeared they had just come out of the one of the rooms lining the corridor. Christ, he thought, barely avoiding rolling his eyes. It was Eric Samuels, the very person Chris didn’t want to see. Recently promoted starting center for the team and something of an annoyance, Chris tended to ignore his usual bullshit for the sake of winning games.

“Eric,” Chris said, standing to full height, trying to figure out how best to play this. “How was your summer?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know, would you? The rest of the team does. We all hung out. Kept it together. But Hemsworth? Gone.” He pointed to Tom, bloodshot eyes narrowing. “This the reason?”

Chris felt Tom’s finger in his belt loop squeeze tighter, his eyes downcast. His jaw set, Chris reminded himself that a joke like Samuels wasn’t worth this. “His name is Tom.”

“Yeah, we all know who he is, Hems.” Eric shrugged nonchalantly. “Funny thing is though, I never took you for a faggot.” He laughed and hugged the girl closer to him. “That shit is hilarious.”

He wasn’t about to deal with this. He took Tom’s hand and pulled them out of the dim hallway, through the dancers and outside again. The area where their friends had been sitting was now empty, plastic cups littering the ground.

“Didn’t you hear me, Hemsworth.” Eric had followed them, dragging the tipsy girl with him. “I called you a faggot!” Several people turned their heads, a hush falling over the garden. Tom shrank back beside him.

Chris took a deep breath, then smiled and faced Eric, his hand tightening around Tom’s. “You’re drunk. Why don’t you go home? Calling me names like that isn’t going to offend me. And besides, why are you so upset about it? Crushed that I’m taken now?”

Eric’s face hardened and he let the girl go.

Tom’s fingers curled into his shirt at the small of his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daniel approach, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

Chris took a small step forward, his jaw clenching. Tom whispered his name so quietly behind him.

“Hey guys, this doesn’t--,” Daniel started.

“Stay out of this, Keller,” Eric said, eyes never leaving Chris.

Chris smirked. “Don’t pretend this isn’t about your new place on the team. Let me remind you of something. Even though you might be starting this season, don’t forget that I was starting the day I fucking moved here. Took you long enough.” He looked down on him. “You would pick the most petty thing to latch on to. So typical of a weak character.”

Tom’s fingers lost their grip on his shirt when he and Eric took another step, but he felt him standing behind him, the only presence he could pinpoint without needing to look.

Daniel hovered for a second and then left in a hurry.

Eric looked down at the ground casually, then raised his hand and pointed at Tom, advancing a few steps. “This is all your fault. I should--.”

Chris stepped in front of Tom and put his hand on Eric’s chest. “No. You shouldn’t. And don’t you ever fucking threaten him again.”

Eric smacked his hand away. "What a load of shit." He smirked and gestured to his own forehead, flicking his chin in Tom’s direction. “You know, you should really take it easy. Looks like you might be getting a bit too rough with him, don’t you think? You fuck him so hard you bruised his face?”

Chris felt his hands spasm and he was suddenly grabbing Eric’s shirt, their fists lifting. The girl screamed and tried to get out of the way, but fell onto the soil of the garden. Chris dodged Eric’s punch and landed two, one of his face and the second on his stomach.

Out of all the noise, he distinctly heard Tom call his name. Someone in the distance yelled happily that there was a fight. A crowd gathered before arms wrapped around his torso from behind and he was hauled away from Eric, who was being restrained by Jaime, another team member. Jaime grabbed hold of Eric’s arms, while Daniel stepped between them, pushing back against Chris. Tom was at his side, hand gripping his elbow. He was shaking.

“Chris,” he said, eyes wide. “Let’s just go.”

Eric lifted himself off the floor, Jaime still holding him back with a hand on his chest. He was shrugged off angrily. “Yeah, Hemsworth. Just go. Take your fag--.”

Daniel spun around. “That’s enough!”

Eric shut up, finally. Wiping at his mouth, he shook his head. Everyone grew quiet.

Chris turned back to look at Tom, saw that he was okay, and then grabbed his hand.

“Watch yourself this season, Samuels,” he said before brushing past the small group of onlookers.

Tom held onto his hand as Chris pulled him through the still-congested front rooms. Down the stairs and into the street he pulled Tom, whose grip was tight, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Tom--,” he started, unnerved by his silence, but was interrupted by Daniel.

“Chris!” He scrambled down the stairs after them. He and Tom stopped in the middle of the road.

Daniel pulled up short of them. “I didn’t know he was going to be here. I’m sorry. And to you, Tom. I’m sorry for what he said back there.” He shrugged apologetically. “He’s kind of a loose cannon.”

Tom nodded and mumbled his thanks, still clinging to Chris’s hand. A group of kids burst out laughing by the front steps, something someone said making them double over in hysterics. The yellow light from the street lamps cast them in a golden glow that made them look almost ethereal.

“Look, just forget about this okay? He’s been acting stupid ever since Coach started him early spring--.”

“I’m not going to forget this, Danny. I don’t know what his problem is but he’s messing with the wrong guy here.”

Tom tugged at his arm again. “Let’s go. Please.”

Daniel nodded in a defeated sort of way. “Okay, okay, I know. I just wanted you to know I was sorry. You guys didn’t deserve that.”

Chris nodded. “I appreciate that.”

Walking to the car, Chris kept looking sideways at Tom. His lips were pressed in a thin line and his eyes were focused on his feet. Chris squeezed his hand. “Tom.”

Tom stopped walking and turned to face him. “What ever happened to not letting the criticisms of others stop us?” His face was a gorgeous shade of pink. Chris was startled to realize it was from anger. 

“What? Wait, no one is stopping us.”

“There was no need to confront him like that. Or-or to continue it in any way from here on out.” He closed his eyes and turned away from Chris.

Chris took one giant step to catch up with him and wrapped his hand around his elbow. It suddenly reminded him of that first day they spoke in front of the school under much different circumstances. Both times Tom was upset and walking away from him.

“Wait. Please wait.”

They reached his car, the quiet around them interrupted by night sounds: crickets and small scurrying animals, the buzz of cicadas and the rustle of a passing wind. Distantly, voices could be heard, but nothing distinct and nothing he cared about. The person he cared about was in front of him.

Tom stopped and leaned back against the driver side door, his hands coming up to cover his face in that worrying way that Chris was so familiar with.

Faintly muffled, he heard Tom whisper under his breath. “I told you. I knew this would happen.”

He gently took his wrists and uncovered his face, pressing his body to Tom’s.

Cursing Eric’s incredible timing, Chris softly kissed Tom’s brow. Just as Tom was opening up, just as he was showing more of his affection and actually flirting with him in public, as much as Chris knew how nervous that made him, Eric Samuels had to ruin their entire night.

Tom sighed when Chris rested his forehead on his cheek. “Eric is on the team with me. He’s a first class asshole and bigot who happened to gain a starting position when our other teammate broke his ankle in January. His fuck-all attitude only got worse after that. It’s part of the reason why I didn’t hang out with the team this summer, really only with Jaime and Danny at the school courts. I just didn’t want to be around the negativity Eric has on him. Not after I’d met you and you were all I could think about.” Tom looked down, his skin warming beneath Chris’s big hands. “This—he—isn’t going to be a problem.” He straightened, slanting more of his weight on Tom, hands coming up to frame his face. “Besides, wasn’t everyone else nice? Didn’t they accept us? You enjoyed yourself, for a bit?”

“Yes, they did. They were very nice.” He smiled. “And of course I enjoyed myself. I do whenever I’m with you. I’m just--.” He shook his head. “I don’t want us to be labeled like that.”

“I know, Tom. I know. But Eric’s ignorance is not our fault. It limits him, not us. You are beyond anything he could ever limit. You are this catalyst in my life, Tom. You mean so much to me.” He frowned. “Did I use that word right?”

Tom chuckled. “It means a person or thing that causes something to happen.”

“I love it that you know that. You’re amazing. Yes, you’re my catalyst.”

He kissed him, chaste and gentle. Tom’s lips opened hesitatingly, his tongue wet and curious. Chris groaned when he was granted access to that wonderful mouth and couldn’t help but step closer, his leg moving between Tom’s. Was he shaking? He wrapped him close and trailed kisses down his neck, whispering _amazing, amazing, amazing._ Tom’s breathing hitched a bit faster.

“Chris.”

He held Tom still with a hand to the back of his head.

“Please yes, Christoph--.”

Chris bit down.

Tom gasped and rose to the tips of his feet, his hips pushing more firmly against Chris.

“Oh God,” he breathed. And Chris could already picture his face, eyes half lidded, mouth open, fingers scrabbling on his chest.

He moaned against the hot skin under his tongue, teeth clamping a little harder before releasing. He lifted his head and saw just what he imagined, Tom’s eyes nearly black in the dim moonlight. Tom blinked a few times and then his eyes focused, a shaky laugh escaping him.

“I fucking love your neck.”

Tom smiled. “I noticed.” 

Chris let his fingers caress him. “It’s so long and…bitable.” He blushed, embarrassed suddenly. “Does it bother you that I like to bite? You think it’s weird?”

“No. It doesn’t. And no I don’t. You know how I feel about bites. In fact,” he kissed the corner of his mouth and looked at him with those blue eyes, lashes casting shadows, “I’d like some more. Please.”

All the heat in his body flooded his core in that second. Chris grasped at Tom harder, whispering, “Car. Now.”


	18. Chapter 18

Chris opened the door and Tom climbed in, scooting over the front seat. He glanced around before following and shut the door behind him. All sound disappeared. They were far enough away from the house that he didn’t think someone would walk upon them. The night was black outside the windows and Tom’s breathing was all he could anchor himself to. He could see his eyes shining in the dark and then one trembling hand found his shirt and tugged.

Chris let himself be moved over the seat to hover over Tom, who relaxed back and slipped his hands under Chris’s shirt, letting them rest against his burning skin, simply.

“It’s…it’s so incredible, this feeling, Tom. Right here.” He tapped his sternum. Tom’s fingers on his skin twitched.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“God yes,” he whispered and lowered his weight to Tom, finally, kissing his open mouth, Tom’s legs widening so Chris fit perfectly.

The night disappeared and it was only their searching hands and low voices and rough rustle of jeans and cotton shirts. Chris inched his way up Tom’s flat belly with warm lips, breath evaporating like steam, pebbling Tom’s skin.

“Chris…yes. Please, yes.”

Throwing his arm over the back of the seat, Tom lifted his hips, legs trembling as Chris kissed his way up to his chest, shirt falling back into place when Chris found his neck again.

“You wanted more? More of what exactly?”

Tom groaned at his playful tone, the heat of his skin spiking. “You know, Chris.”

“Hmm. Do I?” He smiled as he licked at Tom’s throat.

Tom whined low and Chris thought it was the most arousing sound he’d ever heard. His hips thrust down and they both moaned.

Reaching low, Chris located the small lever at the side of the seat and yanked at it. Tom yelped when the seat suddenly collapsed and they fell to a lying position.

Chris sat up, panicked. “Are you okay?” They were silent for a second and then burst out laughing, tears of happiness blurring their view of each other.  

Tom’s smile was bright in the dark. “Yes, I’m fine. Warn me next time.”

“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“No.” Tom smoothed his hair, thumbs grazing his blond eyebrows. “You’re mine.”

Chris pressed Tom deeper into the seat, his kiss hard, right knee rising to lift Tom’s leg, letting it hang limply around his waist.

“I’m yours. I’m yours.” He couldn’t say it enough. He wanted to breathe it into Tom’s skin, color it deep with each bite. He kissed every inch he could find, Tom twisting and drawing him closer, always closer.

He took hold of Tom’s jaw and slowly turned his face away, exposing the long line of his neck, pale and smooth. Tom whimpered but curled his fingers in Chris’s shirt, trying to pull him nearer.

“How many?”

“As many as you want. All of them. Please.” Tom’s whisper was loud in his ears.

The first bite was slow, slow as to feel Tom arch beneath him, to hear him sigh, so as to remember his fingers scratching along the skin of his back under his shirt. Tom’s moan vibrated up from his chest. Chris echoed it, seeking out his hand, gripping it tight.

The second bite was harder, but lower, his rational mind still conscious of the fact that Tom had to hide these bites. Tom cried out softly when Chris bit along his collarbone, his small whimpers burning low when Chris tightened his grip on Tom’s jaw. He quieted as Chris explored, still pressing down with his hips, mumbling his name, a litany he would never tire of. At the hollow of his throat, Chris angled his head sideways, leaving his mark there, savoring Tom’s faint gasp.

He could feel Tom through his jeans, stiff length to match his own.

“I’ve been half hard since your bedroom, Tom. Jesus.” He winced when Tom braced his free leg on the floor of the car and lifted his hips, the pain and unbelievable pleasure of his hard on driving a white light into his vision.

“Fuck,” he grunted, clasping Tom’s hip and holding him down. Tom moaned his name, seeming to like that. A lot. Chris grasped his hipbone harder, a sharp point that he ground with his wide palm, watching with mouth open as Tom’s eyes flickered closed, a word like _yes_ drowning in his throat.

“Come here,” Chris murmured, reaching around Tom’s shoulders with his arm. He dropped low so their chests were pressed together and kissed Tom, moving his hips forward and back, swallowing Tom’s small cries, fingers tightening all over his body. Releasing his mouth, he sucked at his neck, nipping with his teeth until Tom was trembling. He bucked up when Chris nibbled at his earlobe again.

“Chris, I…I think I’m going to…”

“Wait,” he whispered and quickly set to opening the front of Tom’s jeans. Again, he cursed his surroundings, the dim interior of the car obscuring Tom from him. But he worked his jeans down to mid-thigh, followed by the lip of his boxers, low enough to let Tom spring free into Chris’s waiting hand.

Tom propped himself up on his elbows, watching and breathing hard. Wrapping his fingers around it, Chris felt his mouth water and was on the verge of bending to take it in his mouth, wanting, needing to taste him, when Tom’s fingers reached for his belt buckle.

“Please, Chris. You, too. Please.”

The look on Tom’s face was full of mostly pleading and desire, but there was some apprehension and expectation. Tom repeated his motions with his jeans when Chris, incapable of saying anything, stayed quiet.

Quite suddenly, before he could even formulate what it might feel like to have Tom touch him there, Tom’s long fingers were circling his cock and he had to retreat back a few inches to prevent himself from thrusting into his fist.

“Fuck,” he said through clenched teeth.

Tom’s face was lit with delight, his smile was one of relief and brilliant happiness that made Chris’s chest constrict with something he couldn’t identify.

Slowly, Tom’s hand started moving, so hesitatingly, so nervously. Chris groaned and echoed his actions, moving his thumb over the tip, gathering the sticky pre-come there and coating the shaft. Tom’s grip was drier, but his hand was so soft and his small moans were like a siren’s call to him.

Chris stared at him, mesmerized, until he heard voices outside.

He gently grasped the side of Tom’s head, wanting to quiet him but Tom was oblivious to anything at the moment. Slowing the movement of his hand, Chris took a peek through the back window and saw three people getting into a car parked on the other side of the street from them. His mind was split between alarm that someone would discover them and wanting to soak up every detail of Tom coming apart beneath him. When he heard their car doors close, Chris flattened himself on Tom and pressed their cheeks together, dizzy with Tom’s scent. A sheen of fresh sweat had formed on their skin and Chris kissed and licked at it even as he heard for more possible dangerous interruptions.

Tom let his head fall back as his hips jutted up. “ _Chris.”_

Chris pressed his lips to the shell of Tom’s ear and breathed his name, adoring how Tom practically seized up.

A car engine starting. Laughter and conversation. Headlights coming on brightly.

He felt the pulses under his hand and then Tom was coming, his body jerking with the strength of it. Chris clapped his hand over Tom’s mouth, stifling his broken moans. Tom squeezed his eyes shut, hips continuing to lift up. Chris pumped his cock through it all, the milky come stringing out to land on his red shirt.

“You’re so beautiful, Tom.”

Headlights flooded the inside of the car and he pressed them lower into the seat. Finally, the sound of an engine driving away.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Tom was trembling, breathing heavily through his nose. He tried lifting his head but Chris’s hand over his mouth kept him in place.

Chris let go of his cock and took his hand off Tom’s face. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m sorry, there were people--.”

“It’s okay, Chris. It’s okay. I couldn’t stop from coming, though. I’m sorry.”

He took his jaw and kissed him. “I want you to come whenever you want, Tom. I just wanted us to keep our privacy here.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“You don’t apologize, then.” He smiled.

Tom rolled his eyes. “So bossy, my Christopher.” He squeezed his fingers on Chris’s still-hard cock. Chris grunted. “Can I make you come now? Please?”

The way he blinked, looking up at him through those lashes, Chris swore he got harder. “Why do I love it when you say please? It’s so ama--.”

Tom thrust his hand down, the tight circle of his fingers rendering Chris temporarily blind. He relaxed into the seat, Tom scooting over a few inches to give him room. It was a confined space, but Chris couldn’t get close enough to Tom. He wrapped his arms around him, sucking at his neck, letting Tom take care of him. Tom cradled his head close, his hand driving Chris closer and closer to that edge.

“Fuck, Tom, yes. Almost…just…just.”

His climax surged through him, his come bursting out and landing on Tom.

Tom moaned, eyes wide as he looked down at his pulsating erection. “Yes, Chris.”

He shuddered and his arms reflexively squeezed Tom tighter. Hips moving, he pushed until he was on top again, Tom’s hand still wringing out every last drop. He let him go when Chris went soft in his hand.

He took a deep breath, settling closer to Tom, who was gently kissing along his temple, his forehead, his brows.

He was _comforting_ him.

Chris felt faint. “Tom,” he whispered, wanting to say so much, but ended up looking down, his skin warming under Tom’s incredibly tender affections.

He laughed quietly instead, taking in their surroundings.

“We made a mess.”

He pulled up Tom’s boxers and then his own. Tom buckled his own pants and then held his shirt away from his chest, smiling down at the come drying on the front. “We did.”

“It’s okay. Hang on a sec.”

He reached behind the driver’s seat for his gym bag. He always kept extra practice shirts, socks, and shorts with him. He brought out two shirts, but smelled them first, relieved to find that they were clean.

“Here.” He helped Tom remove his shirt and then took off his own. Grabbing Tom’s hand, he cleaned off any sticky residue. He did the same for himself as Tom’s fingers drifted lazily over the muscles of his chest and shoulders. He smiled up at Chris, looking positively sated.

“Keep looking at me like that and we’ll be taking the rest of our clothes off instead of putting new ones one.”

Tom laughed and pulled on the new shirt. He looked from it to Chris and back down again.

Chris held in a laugh. “It’s a bit big on you,” he said as seriously as he could.

“Shut it, you.”

They finished dressing, Chris taking their dirty shirts and crumpling them into his gym bag. He righted the seat and crawled over to his side of the car. Starting the engine, he took Tom’s hand and headed home.

**

Monday morning found Tom sitting up on bed, biting his nails. He was dressed an hour before he needed to be, staring at his backpack. He and Chris had received their class schedules and a school planner in the mail. There were forms for his parents to update and sign, mandatory, especially considering his poison incident over the summer. Yearbook order forms and notices about new school clubs forming. There was a grade for his summer school course, too. Apparently, he’d passed his final exam, thus earning the extra credits he’d needed to help his GPA. Tom handed it all to his parents before racing to meet with Chris to compare schedules. They had Advanced Spanish and American History together, but they were in different Mathematics classes.

He bounced the heel of his foot on the floor, pushing a hand through his hair. His phone beeped.

_I can hear you thinking from way over here._

_I am not. Why are you up so early?_

_Because I knew you would be up this early…thinking._

Tom sighed and fell back on the bed. The sun was barely creeping over the horizon, tinting his walls a pale pink.

_It’s going to be fine. OK?_

_I can’t help it. I’m just nervous._

_I know. I am too. But nothing will happen._

_OK._

_I’ll be there in a bit._

He chewed on an apple, watching as his mom flitted around the kitchen.

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?”

Tom shook his head. His dad came down the stairs and began prepping his coffee mug.

“If he doesn’t want to eat, that’s fine. First days are always a bit shaky anyway.” He smiled at Tom and patted his shoulder on his way out.

Chris text him that he was outside. He waved goodbye to his mom and jogged down the drive. His bites didn’t bother him as much. There was no pain, just occasional soreness. He tried to do a little more each day to improve his chances of being completely healthy and ready for auditions later in the month.

Chris had on silver aviator sunglasses that Tom secretly envied. He didn’t think he could pull them off, but he loved how they looked on Chris. At his neck was the same leather cord he always wore that disappeared into the V of his shirt.

“Hi.” Tom greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, but Chris leaned in and stole one on the lips. He blushed and buckled in, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne.

The parking lot was nearly full when they pulled in. Chris took a space near the farthest corner and killed the engine. They sat in silence, Tom staring out the window at the visible tennis courts, empty of students at the moment.

“Can I see them?”

Tom turned to him, brows scrunched. Chris motioned with his chin to Tom’s shirt.

“Oh. Yes,” he said with a smile. He pulled down the hem of his shirt, exposing the hollow of his throat. He angled his head away and there, in a two neat half circles, were tiny purple bruises from Chris’s teeth.

Chris reached over and trailed his fingers over the mark.

“Don’t you start now,” Tom said, chuckling. He let his shirt go and the bruise disappeared.

“I won’t,” Chris whispered, eyes rising to meet Tom’s. “But I really, really want to.”

Tom’s face softened. “I do, too.”

Chris inhaled and chuckled. “Ah, now _you_ don’t start.” He sighed and stared at the steering wheel. “I am helpless against you.”

Tom smiled and looked down, face burning. Chris kissed his hand.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

They got out of the car, slipping their backpacks on. Linking hands, he and Chris walked through the parking lot, Chris greeting some people he knew, Tom trying to calm his furiously beating heart. He was so used to walking up these sidewalks, through the front doors, invisible. Doing so now with one of the most popular boys in the school, holding his hand, his teeth marks on his body, had his heart beating in his throat. He glanced at Chris, his profile strong and so gorgeous.

He trusted him. He knew this as well as he knew the moon exchanged places with the sun every night.

He did more than trust him.

He would look to him to get through this with him, together. He squeezed Chris’s hand and Chris turned to him, flashing that endearing smile, squeezing his fingers in return.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so very patient with me. I wanted to describe Chris and Tom's first day of school together, but I plan on speeding things up here soon, as fits the story. I've received very wonderful and kind messages and I am greatly encouraged by them. Thank you so much for that.

There was enough disorder in the hallways that they blended into the stream of students seamlessly. Tom was shaking slightly, but his steps were firm and he stared ahead steadily. The bruise on his face made him feel more conspicuous, even if it was receding slowly around the edges. He didn’t need a bandage anymore, the cut scabbed over and healing. But it was more than that. It was all of it and none of it all at once; it was his desire to not care and to acknowledge and ignore and repel and invite and pull Chris to him and disappear into thin air. It was beyond anything he’d ever anticipated, but this was his environment, as much as he didn’t want it. It was his by association and he would either walk unimpeded or cower to the floor. He couldn’t decide what came to him naturally. The first? Both? Was it possible to be both afraid and delightfully remiss? With such a person as Chris at his side, did it matter? No, he decided. It didn’t, even as he looked down (can’t help it can’t help it coward) after hearing a muffled _He's gay?_ somewhere off to the side. He took a deep breath, trying not to care which of them was being talked about (probably Chris). He would try his hardest not to let this stop them. This was their last year. Beyond that he couldn’t fathom what would happen, but he knew he would never look back and doubt that because of his fear, he might have regretted the outcome.

He led Chris to his locker. He leaned against the wall while Tom emptied his backpack of books and binders he would need later in the day.

Chris walked him to his first class, English Literature. “I’ll meet you here for second period.”

Tom nodded, holding his backpack by a strap, reveling in how Chris took his hand and squeezed it, winking at him before leaving.

Inside, he took a seat in the middle of the farthest row. He had a view out the windows from there and if he leaned the tiniest bit forward, he could see the outdoor basketball courts. It was moments like these that caught Tom by surprise the most. The moments he was blindsided by his affection for Chris, this breathtaking emotion that grew exponentially with every morning that dawned and he realized with growing awe that none of it was a dream and that if he reached for his cell phone under his pillow there was likely a text from Chris sent sometime in the night with the random thoughts he sometimes couldn’t wait to share. He sat back and smiled, the sun streaming in warming his skin, or maybe it was something else.

Assignment schedules were passed out, reading lists, presentation projects all included. Tom organized everything into his binder, making note of different due dates in his planner.

As the teacher was making last minute announcements, Tom slipped his backpack on and sat quietly at his desk. He turned to check the time and was surprised to find a boy looking at him. He was folded into his seat, long legs tucked under the chair. He looked tall, maybe his height, with dark brown hair and calm blue eyes. His face was slightly long, but his sharp cheekbones set everything in a pleasant sort of symmetry. The boy looked away quickly, reddening a bit at having been caught staring. A bit confused by the attention, Tom jumped from his seat as soon as the bell rang, following the crowd out the door.

He met Chris in the hallway and they walked to their History class. After this they would have Advanced Spanish and then lunch. Tom had Mathematics in the afternoon and finally Drama while Chris had a free period at the end of the day.

Chris took his hand. “Shaw isn’t here.”

“What?”

“He’s out ‘sick’,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “That’s what the sub said. Couldn’t tell when he’d be back.”

Tom frowned. He didn’t know what to make of this. He’d been anxious about today because of the glaring announcement that would be his relationship with Chris, but also because he would see Mr. Shaw for the first time since he spotted him creeping outside his window. The looming reality of being physically close to him for the first time since their fight in his classroom made Tom queasy.

“All the better, I say,” Chris continued, leading them into the room.

More papers were passed out to them during History, all of which Tom placed succinctly into the appropriate binder. He found the teacher’s over-enthusiasm refreshing, chuckling at his jokes, admiring his stories of trips abroad during the summer.

He mainly amused himself by watching Chris staring at the teacher with dull eyes, chin resting on his hand. That wide, strong hand. Tom blushed hotly, remembering that same hand holding him down, clutching him tightly. Chris glanced over and cocked his head, curiosity on his face. Tom shook his head quickly and bent over his textbook.

Spanish was an enjoyable change of pace, in Tom’s opinion. He knew a bit of the language, but needed help with his pronunciation. He listened with open fascination as the teacher engaged some of the students in the front row in Spanish conversation. Most of them mumbled half responses, sinking lower into their seats; others were capable of uttering a few coherent sentences. She guaranteed everyone that by Christmas, they would be fluent or very close to it.

While the teacher handed out practice worksheets, Chris leaned over and whispered, “Voy hablar mas Español con tu.”

Tom held in his laughter, adoring Chris a little more than he thought possible. So much of what he felt for Chris was more than he thought possible.

He covered his mouth and whispered back, “It’s ‘contigo’.”

“Dammit.” Chris sighed. “Well, you’re my study partner then.”

“I don’t know how great an idea that is.”

“It’s one of my best ones yet.”

At lunch, he and Chris lined up in the queue for plastic trays and water-spotted utensils.

“Are you going to eat today?” Chris asked him, arching his neck to see what was being served.

“Why wouldn’t I eat?”

“I don’t know. Because last year I noticed you would sometimes not even show up for lunch and I always wondered where you went.”

Tom colored, looking down. He didn’t know that anyone, let alone Chris, used to pay that much attention to him. He had to swallow down the rush of excitement this information caused him.

“It’s true I used to skip eating in here. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t eat. I would just find somewhere quiet to read. And eat.”

Chris chuckled and hugged him around the shoulders. “Okay, I believe you.”

They took their food to a table in the corner. Here, they were tucked away enough that Tom didn’t feel as nervous about people looking at them. The sense of being watched seemed a lot stronger since he started going out with Chris, but Tom just chalked it up to his perfectly justifiable paranoia. As for his peers judging him, he really had no idea, as he stared at the floor most of the time, preferring that to the wide-eyed stares of those not in the know.

Setting his tray to the side, Tom brought out his binder and began going over his assignments. Chris munched on some French fries and stared at him, liking how Tom’s brow creased in concentration, the way he bit his lip, or tapped his thumb against the tabletop when he was distracted. Tom popped a grape into his mouth and chewed listlessly, occasionally murmuring something about having read this or that already. Chris’s thoughts drifted to their moments in the car and he quickly had to steer clear of that danger zone, not wanting to embarrass himself.

“Now you’re the one staring.” Tom scribbled something in his agenda and smiled at Chris.

Chris winked at him and tossed a French fry in his direction. It landed in his untouched cut pears. “It’s because I like you.”

Tom made a face at the tossed fry. “I like you, too.” Completely ignoring Chris, he poked at the soggy fry with a finger. “I like you so much, French fry. Be mine forever.”

Chris scooted closer, a mischievous look on his face. Tom stifled a laugh and dropped his pencil, squirming away.

“Are you jealous of a slice of potato,” he said, a smile in his voice, trying to stop Chris with a hand on his wrist.

“I’m jealous of anything you give your affection to.”

Tom leaned into him a tiny bit, fully conscious of their very public venue, his red face, the fact that anyone could turn their way and stare and point, but if anyone did he never knew because he couldn’t bring himself to look. Chris wrapped an arm around his waist as Tom whispered, “I like you very much, too, Christopher.” He blushed and looked at their hands, feeling Chris’s gaze on him, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on his hip.

“Now, now, enough of that, Hems.”

They looked up to see Daniel and Jaime walking to their table with trays.

Sitting down, they nodded their hellos and began stuffing their faces.

Tom smiled shyly at them and focused on the book in front of him. They were each attractive in their own way, he thought. Jaime with his mocha colored skin and close-cut hair; Daniel with his dark wavy hair tossed smoothly over even darker brows. But it was their immediate kindness and acceptance that revealed their grand characters. He was glad Chris had such nice friends, wondering with faint hope if they might want to be his friends too.

Chris kept his arm around his lower back as he talked with Daniel and Jaime, moving his leg over Tom’s, reminding him of warm blankets and firelight and dark crimson theatre seats.

“I am so hungry. Always, always hungry,” Daniel was muttering, taking huge bites of his hamburger.

Jaime was looking at Tom’s papers with wide eyes. “Did you have English already? I won’t until fifth period. Who do you have? ”

“Simmons,” Tom said.

Chris flicked a French fry at Jaime, his favored form of ammunition, Tom mused. “You’re not going to exploit my boyfriend and his brain, James.”

Jaime rolled his eyes and looked at Chris. “I wasn’t going to. Not now that I know he has Simmons.” He turned to Tom. “I have Collins.”

“Watch it, Jaime. He used your full name,” Daniel said.

Tom smiled, turning a page. “That’s when you know he means business.”

The table went quiet. Tom looked up to see Daniel and Jaime smiling widely and a shocked look on Chris’s face. “What?” he asked. “It’s true.”

Daniel and Jaime burst out laughing while Chris hugged Tom close and stole a kiss on the cheek before Tom could escape.

Tom, face burning, stared at his notes.

The boys continued laughing. “That’s great,” Jaime said, scooping up some diced pears. “About time someone else knows our misery.”

“Oh, shut up. I keep you all in line.”

Daniel’s smile melted away as he looked at something behind Tom’s back. “Yeah well, here comes someone not even you can keep in line.”

Chris sat up straighter but didn’t turn around.

Tom, without even having to look, knew who it would be.

Everyone at the table turned as Eric Samuels walked by with the boy Tom recognized from his English class. He was watching Tom with a kind of curious look that he couldn’t identify. It made him feel uncomfortably exposed. He found Chris’s hand under the table and laced their fingers together.

Eric whispered something to his companion and laughed, but the other boy only nodded seriously, eyes still on Tom.

Chris tightened the grip on his hand.

Not lingering, Eric and his friend weaved their way through the tables and out the double doors leading into the hallways.

Jaime let out a low whistle. “Man, Eric is not kidding around.”

“Who the fuck knows what his deal is,” Daniel mumbled, his mouth full of food. He looked up at Chris, eyes wide. “Hey! I forgot. Happy belated birthday, man!”

Chris kept his gaze on the doors leading out, but nodded and smiled, waving off Daniel’s excitement. “Thanks. It was nothing special.”

Tom looked up at him, brows scrunched. “It was your birthday?” he whispered, as Jaime tried to steal food off of Daniel’s tray. Daniel smacked his hand away and they started a mini-fight over the rest of the hamburger.

Chris shrugged, squeezing his hand. “It was nothing important.”

“Of course it is. When was it?”

“August eleventh.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “That’s over a month ago.”

Chris tucked a strand of his hair behind an ear. “Tom, you were sick on the eleventh, remember? Believe me, I was more concerned with you than with my birthday. In fact, the reason I even remembered is because my mom baked me a cake. And she never bakes!” He laughed, taking a swig from his water bottle.

Tom was crestfallen. He’d missed his eighteenth birthday. He looked down, feeling terrible.

“Let me have it, man,” Jaime was saying to Daniel.

“No. Why did you eat yours so fast? Christ, it’s like I’m dealing with a child.”

Chris ignored them and resisted the urge to pull Tom into a hug, knowing he was still uneasy about public displays of affection. He was surprised he had even let him kiss his cheek a few moments ago. He settled for hooking his leg closer under the table. “This isn’t a big deal, okay? Tom, you were all I was thinking about. I don’t care about my birthday. Please don’t feel bad.”

Tom nodded silently and leaned on his elbow. “I’m still sorry I missed it.”

“Why does that not surprise me.”

He smiled, whispering, “Shut it, you.”

“When is yours?”

“I’m not telling.”

“So help me, Thomas, as soon as we’re alone…”

Tom blushed red. “Okay, okay. It’s on February ninth.”

“Hey, what are you two whispering about?” Jaime asked, chewing happily on the hamburger he finally managed to steal from Daniel, rolled his eyes and slurped noisily from his drink. He glanced at Tom’s half-eaten burger and pointed. “Are you going to eat that?”

Tom laughed and passed him his tray. Daniel grinned at Jaime and took a bite.

“Tom, you’re tall, why don’t you play sports?”

“I’m in drama. I used to play soccer when I was younger, but not anymore.”

“You should come to our games. Maybe Chris will focus more.”

Chris scoffed “Please. I have the best stats on the team.”

The bell rang at that moment and the cafeteria was filled with a cacophony of scraping chair legs and clattering utensils.

“Talk to you guys later,” Daniel said. He and Jaime deposited their trays and left. Tom gathered his things while Chris took their trays away.

“So,” Chris said when he returned, “I’ll see you at four out front?”

“You have a free period at two forty five. You’re going to wait for me?”

“Of course I am! I brought some extra clothes. I’ll shoot some hoops or run a few laps. Do some homework. Haven’t decided yet.”

The cafeteria was emptying out. Tom hooked his backpack on and Chris reached for his hand.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to come to my games. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Jaime was just messing around.”

“I do want to go. And I will.” He smiled and glanced down. “I’ve actually already seen you play here at school. A couple times.”

Chris’s eyes grew wide. “When?”

“It’s embarrassing.” He sighed, regretting having said anything, but the happy look on Chris’s face made it worth the slight humiliation. “It wasn’t actually real games. You were practicing,” he mumbled.

Chris hugged him close. “Thomas Hiddleston, were you spying on me.”

He tried wriggling free. “No. I just always happened to look through the doors into the gymnasium when you were practicing is all.” His red face betrayed him.

Chris laughed, head thrown back. The cafeteria was empty save for a few workers visible in the main kitchen. Tom brushed his thumb over Chris’s wrist and Chris stilled, his eyes closing.

“My god, you are the most fascinating person I know,” he whispered, the blue of his eyes startling Tom, loving his long golden lashes, thick and curling upwards.

He swallowed. “We’re going to be late.”

“So be it.”

“Christopher,” he warned, coming up on his tiptoes even though he didn’t need the extra height. He kissed his temple and slipped out of his embrace, letting his hand trail along that well-defined chest. Walking up to the double doors, he turned back and waved at Chris, who with backpack hanging limply from his fingers, silently watched him go.

**

With Drama as his last class, Tom knew he would be ending his days well. This was his territory; here, he knew where every floorboard creaked, which pulleys made the least amount of noise, where voices carried the farthest and whispers were heard best. Here, the velvet-lined corridors of the entire backstage was a constant blur of motion that never caused Tom to stumble or doubt. There was a liberty in waiting just out of sight, makeup heavy and costumes fitted as was best, waiting for that monumental cue that would spur one into action, stepping out into that glare that hid the audience but not the thick sensation of being _seen._ Here felt like sanctuary.

His teacher, Mr. Everson, gathered everyone in the first few rows of the auditorium, the stage lights backlighting his short figure.

“Okay, everyone. We have a great group this year. Many faces are familiar, but we welcome the few freshmen that have joined our company. Also,” he glanced down at his clipboard, “Jason? Our brand new senior?”

A hand went up on the other side from where Tom was sitting. Everyone looked as Jason stood. Tom blinked a few times. It was the boy from his English class, the one who was friends with Eric.

“Here,” Jason said, deep voice unable to hide his shy smile. He took his seat again. Unsure how he missed it the first time, Tom noticed that he had a silver hoop pierced into the bottom of his right lip. The edge of it caught in the bright ceiling spotlights when he shifted his eyes at the last minute to look at Tom before disappearing from his view.

Mr. Everson nodded. “Welcome to you as well. A bit unusual for a person to join their last year, but we are happy to have you. Now. This semester we are tackling _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. Shakespeare’s hysterical but still complicated play about mistaken love and general confusion. Also involved are a fairy king and queen and one mischievous little sprite that is generally the one responsible for most of the trouble.” A few people laughed quietly, most probably very familiar with the play. “So. Auditions are set for next week. Not to worry, you will only be auditioning for my two assistants and myself. You’ll get enough attention on opening night.”

The meeting broke up after that. Mr. Everson came over to greet Tom, showing concern over his bruise, to which Tom assured him that he was fine and would be ready for auditions.

Finding Julia in the group, she and Tom sat together on the edge of the stage, the others loitering around them. From here, the auditorium seats were blacked out in the glare of the stage lights.

“It’s going to be a great show, Tom,” she said, sighing happily. “I can just feel it.”

Tom nodded, murmuring his agreement and looking up at the rafters, trying and failing to shake the feeling of someone watching him.

**

Chris ran. He’d lost count of the number of laps he’d already completed, but he wasn’t nearly to the point of being winded. The muscles in his legs burned, his chest was tight, but his shoulders and torso held straight, air moving clearly through his nose. He pushed through it all, remembering the shape of Tom’s eyes when he’d kissed him in the cafeteria, that soft, innocent kiss, lifting up as if he needed the extra height to reach him. But he didn’t; it was just the most adorable gesture and had made Chris feel weak in the knees. He couldn’t breathe as Tom walked away and out the door, waving at him in that tender way of his.

Chris turned a corner, his feet slapping the rough asphalt.

And then the moment that kid Jason had passed by their table, staring Tom down. Chris thought Tom had felt it too, because he’d taken Chris’s hand under the table, but he couldn't be sure until he asked him.

Approaching Daniel about it after English, Daniel shrugged. “He’s back, I guess. He moved away early last year, about the same time you got here. Don’t know why, but I guess his family moved back home. He and Eric were close before. Looks like nothing’s changed.”

Checking his watch, he saw that it was a quarter to four. He slowed his steps and caught his breath. After a quick rinse in the locker room shower, he was waiting outside the front steps, keys swinging from his index finger.

Tom stepped out after a few minutes, Julia at his side. She waved at Chris from the curb and walked off toward her car.

“How was it?” he asked, wrapping Tom in a hug. Tom let out a soft huff of air and pressed his nose to his neck.

“Very good,” Tom said, sagging against him. Chris took his weight, feeling the tension in his shoulders. It was Tom who finally pulled back, letting Chris link their fingers together. “Auditions are next week.”

“You’ll be amazing.”

“I hope I do well.” He looked around them quickly and then back at Chris. "Kiss?" He paused, remembering something Chris had said, "Please?"

Eager to obey, Chris took Tom's neck in one hand and brought their lips together. The little noise Tom made elicited a groan of his own and he pulled back, breathless. "Mmm, I want more," he said, already tugging Tom closer.

They kissed quickly, once, twice, until Tom chuckled, a blush sweeping over his cheeks. "Later. I'm starving."

They climbed into his car and as Chris pulled out, Tom rested his head on the seat, startling when he caught a glimpse of that boy Jason standing just inside the double doors leading into the school, watching as they left.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me. Hope you enjoy the new chapter :)

It wasn't until they were alone a few days later, finishing up their Spanish homework in Tom's room, that Chris asked him if he knew Jason.

"Who?" Tom looked up from his sheet. He was lying face down on the bed, papers spread in a semi-circle before him. Chris sat back in the desk chair, crossing his long legs at the ankle. "The guy from the first day?"

He nodded, saying nothing.

Tom shrugged. "I don't remember him, but he looks familiar."

He was half doing his homework, half studying lines. He was fairly certain that he was going to get the role of Puck. His auditions went more smoothly than he anticipated, but even he realized that he was better suited for the role of the mischievous sprite than the king of the fairies. Roles would be announced soon and he wanted to be prepared.

"Danny says he moved away about a year ago and that now he's back, obviously,” Chris said, grimacing. He realized how forced he sounded.

Tom frowned, scrunching his brows delicately. Chris bit at his nail, wanting to touch him. "I guess that makes sense. I might have seen him around a couple of years ago and not have noticed when he left." He looked down, tapping his pencil against his spiral bound binder. "He's in some of my classes."

Chris turned to him. "He is?"

"Yeah. English and Drama."

Chris started chewing on his thumbnail again.

"He kind of creeps me out a little," Tom said, looking back down at his work.

Chris got up and came to sit on the bed, leaning back on his elbow. "Why's that?"

Tom shrugged. "Well, not creeps me out. Not really. Just makes me a bit nervous. It's probably silly."

Taking his hand, Chris brushed his lips on Tom's cheek. "Why, babe?"

"I guess. Well, I guess the past few days I've caught him looking at me. At us, sometimes, like after school the first day. He was at the doors when we left."

"Watching us?"

He nodded. “It’s stupid. Probably just like all the other people who’ve been staring at us this week.”

“No one’s been staring.”

Tom gave him a look.

“Okay, well a few have. But I honestly don’t care.”

Tom smiled and took his fingers, kissing them softly. "I'm learning how not to."

**

“ _Chris, I’m scared.”_

_“Why, Tom?”_

_He couldn’t see him. Where was he? “Tom?”_

_“Chris…” He was farther away now and Chris held his arms out, trying to find him. “Afraid of what, Tom? Where are you?”_

_He stumbled along for minutes on end until his foot bumped into something. He looked down, this darkness making it impossible to see. But then, like a wick catching flame, what was before him was suddenly illuminated and his eyes widened in shock. Tom was on his back, being held down by Shaw, who knelt over him, hand over his mouth, tongue like a lizard licking his neck. Tom was visibly shaking, tears in his eyes. Shaw casually flicked his gaze up at Chris, and smiled._

_It was like a wire tightening painfully in his chest until finally snapping loudly, leaving him hollow with rage. “No!” Chris threw himself at Shaw, his strong legs propelling him into a violent tackle, but at the last second, just as he prepared himself to strangle that grin off Shaw’s face, he passed right through him. Skidding across the floor, he twisted and turned back, frantic._

_They were gone._

Chris woke up with a gasp, chest rising and falling, sweat pricking at his brow. Tom's face was so clear in his mind. But why was he panicked if he dreamt of Tom? His dream was so…he couldn’t remember. Whatever it was must have startled him. He bent at the waist, trying to calm his heartbeat. Breathing in through his nose, exhaling shakily through his mouth, Chris knew his dream had been about Tom. And in that curious way memories swim to the forefront of one’s thoughts, he recalled with vivid clarity the time he and Tom had fallen asleep on his bed just after he was released from the hospital. Tom had woken up frightened, unsure of who Chris was, pushing at him.

At the time, Chris likened it to the simple fact that sometimes people wake up from sleep feeling disoriented. It had been dark and Tom was unaccustomed to waking up next to someone. But this was just conjecture. He was missing something, but his fatigue was fogging his brain.

He rubbed his eyes, that nagging feeling deep in his head enough reason to reach for his phone. He typed a quick text to Tom, noting that it was just after eleven o’clock.

_You awake?_

Two seconds later: _Yes._

_Why?_

_Idk. I had a dream and I can’t fall asleep again._

“You, too, huh?” Chris murmured, placing his feet on the floor. And then that moment in the hospital came to him, when Tom had whispered, “I’m not afraid. Not of you. Nervous maybe. But not afraid." He frowned. Was fear preventing Tom from sleep? Did he have nightmares about that day in the summer?

He sat up in bed, typing.

_Do you wake up afraid because you think Shaw is there?_

Tom didn’t respond for ten minutes. By this time, Chris was up and pacing his room. When his phone beeped, he pounced on it.

_Yes._

He didn’t reply. He opened his blinds and climbed out the window.

**

The night was dry but warm. Tom lay staring up at his ceiling, hearing the quiet whirring of the fan circulating the air in his room. His phone rested on his chest, silent. Chris still hadn’t answered. Had he fallen asleep? Or was he mad at Tom for admitting the truth about Shaw?

His text had been very random. Tom had been awake for a while, reading by his phone light. His dreams mostly featured Tom and Shaw alone in the classroom, his panic stemming from how fast Shaw approached him and how slowly Tom was to get away. Which he never did. Shaw always caught him and that moment by the window would play out seamlessly in static silence, Tom’s pleas unheard.

He couldn't deny that he'd been having trouble sleeping. Falling asleep was not the problem. It was that instant of terror when he woke up, thinking someone was above him, non-existent hands inching their way up his chest. The terror left him gasping, clutching his sheets, his need for Chris insurmountable. But Chris was streets away, asleep in his bed. Tom would never deign to disturb him for his stupid reason.

He bit his lip, confused. He was a horrible liar. And he couldn’t lie to Chris. Replying to his question with a simple _no_ was too blatantly dishonest and saying something about not wanting to talk about it would only confirm his suspicions in a roundabout way that he didn’t feel was fair to Chris.

His phone beeped. Finally.

_It’s me. I’m coming up._

What? He was here?

There was a muted thud outside his window and he sat up, heart pounding. Jumping out of bed, he unlatched his window and threw it open. Quiet as a cat, Chris bent forward and stepped from the ladder into his room.

Tom closed the window but left the blinds up. “How did you know?”

“Know?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

Chris swallowed and looked around the dark room. “Because I think I had a dream about it. And it just clicked.”

Saying nothing, Tom went to sit at the edge of the bed. After a beat, Chris followed and put his arm around his waist.

“Tom, I won’t let him hurt you. I won’t. Not at school and certainly not here, where you’re your most private, most open and free. He will never touch you again.”

“Chris…” Tom gripped him around the waist and leaned in to hug him. He started to shake and Chris pulled him close.

“No, babe. Don’t cry. I’m here.” Tom’s fingers curled in his shirt. “And all this weirdness at school, with the staring and the general unease and eventually when Shaw comes back, don’t let it bother you. I’m betting everything I own that he won’t try anything again. It’s not worth the risk. We are there to kick ass and pass everything and play sports and see you onstage and sometimes I just want to devour you in kisses, Tom, because you are all I can think about. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Okay? We’ll get through this.”

Tom laughed softly, eyelashes heavy with tears. “Yes. Thank you, Chris.” He sighed and sat up. “I just hope I can get to sleep again.”

Chris fiddled with the edge of the blanket. “I’ll stay with you.”

Tom looked up. “Chris, you don’t have to….”

“Well, I want to. That is, with your permission.” Tom’s face broke into a smile. He nodded. “Is your door locked?”

“No.”

Standing, Chris removed his sneakers and locked the door.

“Which side do you sleep on?”

Tom, still surprised, pointed to the right. They climbed under the covers and once situated, Tom whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, babe. Let me just…” He pulled out his phone and set his alarm with enough time to run home and get dressed in the morning. “There.” Staring across the space between them, Chris said, “It’s okay. We’re just going to sleep. I’ll be here on my best behavior.”

Tom chuckled quietly. “You make it seem like you initiate everything.”

“I kind of do. And I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“You don’t. I think you’re reading me just right.” They smiled at each other. “I'm not worried about being pressured by you. Everything we’ve done, I’ve wanted to do, too. Very badly. I trust you...implicitly.” He laughed self-consciously and looked down. Chris took his hand, knowing he was blushing. Using his thumb, he wiped the few remaining tears that clung to Tom's lashes.

"Will you tell me, then? What’s bothering you?"

“Can I move closer?”

Chris sighed dramatically. “Tom, no. I never want you to be near me ever. Don’t even think about it.”

Tom poked him in the chest. “Shut it, you.”

“Babe, yes, come as close as you want.”

Slowly, Tom inched over, snuggling close, wrapping himself around Chris, face against his neck. He sighed and Chris felt his entire body relax. Whisper-soft, Tom told him about his dreams, the panic, the feeling of being watched, the hands on him, the pressure, the weight that, once awake, evaporated into smoke. Everything would be normal after flicking on his lights, like his fear had never been real. Tom’s breath ghosted over his neck and goose bumps erupted over his skin.

Chris swallowed, anger clouding his sight, pulsing hard under his skin. “He did this. That fucking…I could just…” He sighed, burying his nose in Tom’s hair.

“Don’t,” Tom whispered. “Don’t let him make you angry. He isn’t worth it.” He gripped Chris tighter. "Like I told you in your room, I feel safe with you. There is no fear. It's all longing and warmth and security. It's unlike...anything I've ever felt."

Speechless, Chris kissed his forehead and pulled the sheet over them. "Good. You _are_ safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you. Okay?"

Tom nodded. Silence enveloped them and Chris was lulled by Tom’s fingers scratching slowly at his back, a lazy movement that Chris found he adored. Moments passed and just as he thought Tom had fallen asleep, he spoke.

“Chris…”

“Yes, Tom?” He stroked his hair, loving how his curls bounced back into place.

Silence. And then, “Nothing. Thank you for staying with me.”

“You’re welcome, Tom.”

He lay awake after Tom fell asleep, his breath so soft and warm against his neck. They’d locked the window but left the blinds open a crack. Moonlight washed in solidly, blanketing the far corner of the room in a ghostly gray. A wave of drowsiness washed over him and he let the tension roll off him in waves, cozying himself around Tom’s long body. He was soon drifting and, with Tom’s arm wrapped around his back, fingers pressed between his shoulder blades, Chris closed his eyes and let go.

It was much later when something woke him up. He tensed, arms tightening around Tom, casting his gaze over the room at large. Nothing.

He didn't know what he expected. For Shaw to be standing over them, or maybe in the corner of the room like the fucking creep he was? This wasn’t some horror movie where the villain got away with things that wouldn’t normally work, even if he knew that wouldn’t make either Tom or himself feel any better, or diminish Tom’s anxiety over it.

It didn't matter. They were alone and Tom was safe.

As he was settling down again, Tom murmured something, his voice vibrating delicately on his skin. Hearing his name, Chris bent low and whispered, “It’s just me. Are you okay?”

But Tom didn’t respond. He breathed his name again, _Christopher_ , squeezed his arms around him and whispered, as if the easiest thing in the world, as if saying aloud a truth he’d known since the beginning of time, “I love you.”

Chris stopped breathing. The tiny noises one hears at the night, the house creaking, the fan circling, the neighbor's dog barking, the wind rushing against the windowpane, all of it ceased. His heart felt like a hammer in his chest. He pulled back a bit, angling his head down to see, to check, to make sure that he heard correctly.

Tom's head rolled gently and came to rest on his shoulder.

"Tom?"

He was fast asleep.

Chris rubbed his eyes with shaking fingers, trying to somehow reabsorb this burst of energy that emanated from the center of his chest. He wanted to swallow it up and keep it inside himself forever, this immense happiness that threatened to capsize his mental capacity.

Tom just said that he loved him.

Skin burning, he laughed shakily into the quiet room, holding Tom close with one arm. He rolled to his back and Tom moved with him, arm over his torso, leg between Chris’s knees.

He lay as quietly as he could, but he was teeming with the need to shout. This amazing boy, albeit unconsciously, just admitted to _loving_ him. It was more real for Chris, this emotion, than anything he’d ever experienced. And he couldn’t believe that, once having heard it, it seemed like something he had been waiting for forever.

“My god,” he whispered, gathering Tom to him, who squirmed a bit at the tight embrace. He kissed his temple softly and Tom relaxed again. “I’m here, Tom,” he said, covering Tom’s hand with his own. “I’m here.”

**

Tom jostled awake. Something was beeping loudly. Beside him, Chris erupted from out of the covers and fumbled for his phone, which he eventually found under the pillow.

What a beautiful and strange and wonderful sight this was for Tom. Chris, with his sleepy eyes and golden hair, loose around his shoulders, here in his bed.

After silencing the phone, Chris collapsed back against the mattress and let out a quiet groan.

“It’s not even light out,” Tom whispered, when Chris found his hand under the blanket.

“I need to run back home and get ready.”

Tom smiled and squeezed his fingers. “You and all the running you do. No wonder you’re in amazing shape.”

“And you’re saying you’re not?”

“Oh, no. Don’t you start with your insisting that I’m as strong as you.” He burrowed into Chris’s side and huffed quietly. “It’s too early in the morning.” Chris laughed and it sent shivers down Tom’s spine at how deeply it resonated in his chest. “How did you sleep?”

“Wonderful,” Chris said and Tom heard a smile in his voice. He looked up.

"What are you so happy about? No one should ever be up this early."

“I had you in my arms all night.” His face was lit with a wide smile as he tapped Tom’s nose playfully. “You and your murmurings.”

“Oh, god. Don’t tell me I narrated an entire scene from one of Shakespeare’s works.”

Chris chuckled and pulled him up for a hug. “Something like that.”

Tom moved to kiss him but Chris pulled back. “No, I have morning breath.”

Gripping his chin in long fingers, Tom rose up to hover over him. “Kiss me,” he whispered, blinking slowly. “Please?”

“Fuck.” Chris sat up in a hurry, grabbing Tom’s neck and kissing him. Each pulled the other closer and they rolled, limbs tangling, hands clutching, until breathless, they broke apart, Tom half lying on Chris.

“I have to go. But damn it if I don’t want to. I want to lie here with you on top of me all day.”

“That sounds like a brilliant plan,” Tom said softly, kissing Chris’s shoulder.

“Don’t, please,” Chris said with a grimace, eyes shut tight, still holding Tom to him tightly. “We’ll never get to school on time and it’s getting harder for me to say no to you.”

“Is it? Getting harder, Christopher?”

“Goddammit, Thomas,” Chris growled, grinding the ball of his palm into his eyes, not wanting to look at Tom and lose all his resolve.

“Go then,” Tom said, laughing quietly, resting his chin on Chris’s chest. He blinked up at him lazily. “But come back.”

“For you, yes. For you, anything.”

He climbed out the window, kissing Tom every inch he went lower on the ladder, Tom bending as far as possible without toppling out, until they simply couldn’t anymore. They broke apart, Chris descending slowly, watching Tom brace his weight on the ledge, already missing how warm his skin was from sleep.

Tom loved him. It was the most incredible thing, a current of light that sprang to life under his bones.

He loves me, he thought with a smile, jogging around the corner and toward home. A wind had picked up overnight and now pushed at his heels so that he sprinted until he practically flew.

**

Shaw didn’t show up to teach until the following Monday. Chris tensed when he came into the room, carrying a leather satchel and holding a tissue to his nose. He grumbled for the class to settle down, placing his things on the desk and pulling out his chair.

Sitting completely still, Chris stared at Shaw as he went about the lecture, sneezing occasionally and blowing his nose loudly. Disgusted, Chris took to doodling on his paper, trying and failing to ignore the fact that this man assaulted Tom. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed his eyes, knowing he would have to stare at this man’s face the entire year. But Shaw never once looked his way and after class, he met Tom at the end of English, watching as Jason slipped out ahead of everyone, walking off by himself down the hall and out the double doors.

“He’s back,” Chris whispered, when Tom stepped out. He pulled them out of the way of the crowd when Tom visibly paled. “Hey, it’s going to be fine. Just sit near the door and step out as soon as the bell rings. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Tom nodded, swallowing down his sudden nausea.

“I'll walk you there later.”

After lunch, Chris peeked into the class and saw that Shaw was behind his desk. A few students were already seated, but the class was filling quickly.

“You should go in and get this one by the door.” Tom appeared very interested in his shoes. “Remember,” Chris said softly, holding Tom’s arm. “He can’t hurt you here. You’ll be in and out. Just take your notes, do your work and you won’t need to see more of him than is necessary. Okay?”

“Yes. You’re right. I’ll be fine. I-I’ll meet you here afterward.”

Chris studied him; saw his wide eyes, the two bright spots on his cheeks that appeared when he was flustered. He leaned down slowly and kissed him, expecting Tom to freeze or maybe move away, but he did neither. It was a quick, chaste kiss, but this was the most he felt Tom would be comfortable with. For Tom, despite his original fears, people didn’t stop what they were doing to stare. Voices continued to shout, complain about this or that project, and laugh about everything but them. The tightness in his chest loosened and he leaned into Chris, his warmth an immense comfort for his suddenly cold body.

As Tom walked into the room, folding himself into the desk nearest the exit, Chris stared into the class and directly at Shaw. It wasn't until Shaw looked up from his papers, eyes catching and widening when spotting Chris, that Chris allowed himself to turn and walk away.

**

Tom pulled his phone out as the rest of the class trickled in.

_I saw that._

_Saw what? ;-)_

_If I didn't know you, I would be scared too. He kinda looked like he wanted to throw up._

_Good. You weren’t afraid of me before this summer were you?_

_A little._

_:( babe no._

_I'm not anymore. I just tolerate you I guess._

_I s2g Tom...wait til we're alone again. I want to kiss you._

Tom felt his skin heat up with Chris's fake threats. He loved knowing all that strength and aggression flowed just beneath the surface. Chris kept it all in check, not wanting to hurt him, Tom knew. But he liked to fantasize about a time when they wouldn't have to be so careful with each other, when exploring that element together would be part of their growth as a couple. But first they had to get some other firsts out of the way.

_Later. I promise._

_:-*_

_You're cute. I kind of like you._

_Only kind of?_

_Ok a lot. A lot a lot a lot. But I have to go. He's looking over here._

_OK._

Smiling, he put his phone in his pocket, still aware of Shaw in the room. Chris was at the forefront of his mind right now, but that didn't rid him of the anxiety waiting to burst just under his skin at the first sign of Shaw being closer to him than was necessary. The buffer the other students provided let him breathe easier, regardless.

Glancing over at Tom only once, Shaw's face was a mixture of open apprehension and mild curiosity, as if wondering what Tom's move would be, if he would reveal something about their last encounter. His eyes lingered on the fading bruise on his face, before he turned away, flushing, hurriedly stacking papers on his desk in a big show of looking busy.

In what Tom hoped was a way to shake off Chris's power stare in the doorway, Shaw went about passing back assignments given by the substitute teacher, slipping Tom’s onto his desk and walking away without a word.

Tom did his best of not paying attention to him. He took notes and wrote his homework into his planner and was packed before anyone else. The bell rang and he was out of his chair in a flash, walking through the door and straight into a hug with Chris, who was waiting by the row of lockers.

“Mmm,” Chris purred into his ear, dragging him away from the door and out of the way of the flow of students. “I missed you. Everything okay?”

Tom nodded, silent in the comfort Chris provided.

“One more class and then we’re free. I’m heading over to the gym to run some laps. I’ll walk you to Drama.”

Anticipating that roles might be announced today, Tom gladly took Chris’s hand and led the way.

**

It was as he predicted. Tom nabbed the role of Puck and as soon as he read his casting, he found Julie by the stage.

She squealed and jumped up into his arms. He caught her and spun. “I got Titania! I made queen!”

“Congratulations!” He set her down and they laughed breathlessly. “I knew you would.”

“I saw that you got Puck!”

“Yes. It’s just as I thought.”

“But, I forgot to check who my king is. Did you see?”

Tom was shaking his head when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Jason, blue eyes brighter under his dark hair, standing tall beside him. His sharp cheekbones stood out starkly in the stage lights.

In a voice deep and resonant, he smiled shyly and held out his hand to Tom. “Tom. My name is Jason Brent. Thought I’d introduce myself. I’ll be playing Oberon. King of the fairies.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. This chapter is a bit long (very long). I hope you all enjoy it!  
> I dedicate it to Viviana. I hope it makes you smile and lets you forget, even for a moment <3

When Chris decided not to run during his free periods, he would jog around their neighborhood in the evenings, keeping an eye out for Shaw’s car. He and Tom hadn’t talked about what might happen if they spotted Shaw outside his window again. A part of Chris didn’t want to think about it because it would make him angry and he would begin to feel helpless about how best to protect Tom. But the other part knew exactly what he might do, and Chris didn't know how to feel about that certainty. Their math class was going smoothly, so far. Shaw never looked at Chris, never called on him, never acknowledged him in any way; never requested he help clean the board, as he did with other students, promising extra credit points. Tom told him it was the same in his class, with one exception.

“He still looks at me. Sometimes I catch him, like when I’m working on an assignment and I look up to check the time, he’s sitting behind his desk watching me. But when he sees I’ve caught him, he looks away quickly. It’s unsettling.”

Now he had to think about how this Jason guy was making Tom feel--and how he was making himself feel, too, in all honesty. Tom said he made him feel nervous, which Chris didn’t really know how to take. Whatever the story was behind Jason’s sudden move and return a year later, Chris only cared that he left Tom alone so they could finish their senior year relatively unscathed. He and Tom had applied for college during the spring before they met, and now they were anxiously awaiting acceptance letters. They hoped they got accepted together.

The gym was empty for last period, and because there was a cutting breeze outside, he decided to run indoors. The theatre was only across the way from the gymnasium and Chris smiled, remembering Tom’s embarrassed confession to having seen him practice on occasion throughout the previous year.

If only he knew how often I watched him too, Chris thought to himself, rubbing a towel over his hair in the locker room afterward. Moving around on stage with an ease that disappeared whenever Chris saw him in the hallways, head bowed against any prying eyes. It was amazing to know the spark that lit over his face when he smiled, the way his eyes would half close when Chris leaned in to kiss him.

Just before four, Chris had his bags on the floor in the hallway in front of the doors Tom would come out through. He played a zombie game on his phone while he waited, his wet hair tied in a bun at the nape of his neck. He kept glancing outside, watching as the wind picked up and batted against the rapidly bare branches of the trees bordering the school property. It would start to get cold soon, the fall season settling in nicely. He smiled, imagining Tom with cheeks pink from the cold, bundled up in scarves and sweaters, reaching to him for warmth.

Before him, the doors burst open and students streamed out from the dark interior of the auditorium. He spotted Tom immediately, walking with Julie.

“Yes, but how did he get Oberon?” she was whispering to Tom.

“Don’t know. With auditions private this year, I have no idea about his talent level. Must be pretty good if he got king.”

Julie looked at him sympathetically and touched his arm.

"Good news?" Chris asked, hugging Tom.

"Yes! Tom will be Puck and I am Titania," she said, bowing low.

"She's the queen?"

She nodded happily. “Just like I predicted! But I better go. I have a video chat scheduled with my brother later and I can't wait to tell him. Congrats, Tom! Bye, guys!"

They watched her leave. Tom leaned into him, raising his hand to stroke Chris's wet hair.

"So clean, my Christopher. How was your run?"

"Not as exciting as class was for you." He kissed him, a soft peck on the lips, loving how Tom blushed pink and looked down. "I'm proud of you."

The door opened behind him and Jason walked out with the drama teacher, who was explaining something about the use of dark spaces on stage. Jason met his eyes briefly, seeing them leaning together on the wall. He looked at Tom last, giving a small nod, whispering Tom's name in greeting or farewell, he didn't care. His fingers tightened on Tom’s waist.

Tom looked at the floor and then turned to Chris, shifting closer, staring into some middle distance.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a little upset I didn’t get king, even if I was preparing myself for the role of Puck.”

“Did he get king?” He gestured with his chin at the figures retreating down the hall.

Tom nodded.

Chris saw the disappointment in his eyes and quickly wrapped an arm around his shoulders, turning him away and starting toward the double doors that led to the parking lot. "Don't worry about it. You've been studying for Puck this whole time. You have so many of his lines memorized. Getting king would have only messed all that up for you."

Tom nodded, "I suppose you're right. Anyway, I'm tired. Let's go, please?"

Chris kissed his forehead. "Anything you say." 

** 

Tom began a steady routine with his classes. He and Chris would drive in together, separate for their individual classes and join again for the two before lunch. Usually Daniel and Jaime would meet them in the cafeteria during their break, bringing with them their laughter and kind ribbing, their presence a solid confirmation of their acceptance of Tom and Chris, and by extension the possible acceptance of the rest of the school, eventually. Not that he felt the entire school was against them, but sometimes the feeling of being watched became overwhelming in a way he was unaccustomed to from his time onstage.

He was becoming more comfortable around Chris’s friends, but still remained quiet, only speaking when he felt truly confident about what he wanted to say. Mostly he read, or organized his notes, or helped Jaime with his homework. Chris would speak lowly with Daniel about who might be starters on the team this year, which two teams would most likely be the last standing in their division, or if their coach had finally organized his playbook like he'd been promising them since they were freshmen. Tom enjoyed half listening to their conversations, his and Chris’s hands clasped loosely under the table.

At night, after he and Chris were finished with their assignments and they each went home to shower and spend time with their parents, they would get online and video chat on their laptops. It was Chris who suggested it, as they knew he wouldn't be able to sneak into Tom's room every night.

"Even though I might every now and then," he said, nudging his nose along Tom's neck, pushing him further into the passenger seat, his hands crawling up under his shirt to grip his ribcage.

Tom gasped and arched, as Chris knew he would, arms closing in around him.

"Chris, we can't. Someone will see," he said, hands clutching at his shirt and pulling him even closer.

They were in his car parked behind the big oak in the main lot. It was mid-October and Tom had just come out of Drama, murmuring tiredly about stage exercises and heavy prop placement. Chris took one look at his red cheeks and sweaty skin before dropping his keys and scooting across the seat. Tom had the endearing habit of moaning softly whenever their lips first touched, and did so now, prompting Chris to widen their kiss. He tightened his grip on Tom's torso, practically lifting him up into his lap. Chris couldn't get as close to him as he wanted; mouthing at his neck, shivering when Tom moaned so quietly, smoothing down his curls, wanting to grab and pull gently, to hear that gasp over and over. The bruise he left on his shoulder had faded, the skin milk white and smooth.

Tom sighed quietly, his mouth forming tiny kisses on Chris's temple. Taking his earlobe into his mouth, Chris moved with Tom's weight when he lifted up with a sharp gasp.

"God, Chris, that feels so..." Tom breathed, anxiously clawing at his back.

He startled suddenly when they heard coughing nearby. Tom pulled back in a hurry and Chris felt his absence keenly. They turned when the coughing started up again and saw Shaw, handkerchief pressed to his mouth, walking rapidly down the front steps with another teacher. The other teacher was laughing at something Shaw said and Chris swallowed down his loathing.

Blushing furiously, Tom looked at his feet, hands clasping together tightly. Noting the change in him, how he practically wanted to disappear into the seat, Chris looked angrily out at where Shaw was walking across the parking lot to his own vehicle, the same one he saw leaving Tom's house not too long ago.

"Chris," Tom whispered, placing his hand on his knee. "Let's just go."

Chris said nothing, his eyes never leaving Shaw, who was now in his car and pulling out of his space.

"Darling," he heard softly and he blinked.

"Yes, babe?" he said.

Tom was looking at him and he couldn't tell what he was thinking. His eyes were slightly wide, but his brows low, as if apprehensive, but curious about something.

"Let's go," Chris said, if a bit tightly. He turned the ignition and started driving. Tom reached across the space and took his hand, holding it loosely in his lap.

"It's nothing, okay?"

He shook his head. "I don't like him, Tom. He hurt you. I'm pretty sure I hate the guy." Only just recently had the bruise on his temple gone away, all that remained was a deeper set ache that had him rubbing his head on occasion.

Tom turned to look out the window, his thumb rubbing circles on his palm, trying in this small way to soothe Chris. 

** 

"Why aren't we asleep?" Tom murmured with a small giggle. His face was lit blue from the computer screen, and Chris curled his pillow closer, enjoying Tom's sleepy giddiness.

"You're the one keeping _me_ up, so I don't know what you're talking about," he said seriously, holding his laptop closer on his chest. It was just before midnight and their parents were asleep. Tom had been a bit withdrawn when he dropped him off at his house earlier. They texted throughout the evening and he had been itching to go over there when his computer screen lit up with a video chat invitation from Tom. After talking for a couple of hours, they were both on the verge of passing out.

"Oh, is that true, Christopher? Do I keep you up?" His eyes were squinty from fatigue, but he licked his lips as he leaned closer to the screen.

Chris stifled a groan as he watched him lying on his side, hand curled up to pillow his head. "Why must you always tempt me to jump out my window and run over there?"

Another giggle. "I'm just lying here. All alone. Doing nothing to no one."

"Goddammit," he whispered as he felt his cock begin to stir at the flirtatious tone. “You are just the biggest temptation of my life.”

“Mmm,” Tom said, his eyes closing. His lazy smile was fading slowly and Chris knew he was about to lose him.

“Babe. Turn your computer off. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Babe, your battery will die. Just close it. I’ll get you in the morning…Tom?”

But Tom didn’t respond. His face was relaxed in sleep, eyebrows slightly scrunched. Chris eased back into his pillow and settled the laptop just off his chest. He watched Tom sleep for a few minutes before closing the humming machine and turning into the pillow, closing his eyes.

** 

Tom stifled another yawn.

“Late night last night?” Julie said with a wink.

He blushed despite himself. “Nothing like that. Just lots of homework.”

“Same here. I’ve been trying to learn lines just before bed and it’s been a struggle.”

They stood just at the edge of the stage, watching as Mr. Everson helped another student maneuver a prop to the corner. A brief break had been called and everyone let their attentions wander, lounging until they were called back.

As soon as he got into the car that morning, Tom had grabbed Chris’s face and kissed it a dozen times, apologizing for falling asleep on him. Chris turned a gorgeous shade of pink and cleared his throat loudly, assuring Tom that it was fine, really, but to please kiss him more. Tom had laughed and squirmed away when Chris buried his face in his neck, feigning growling noises.

“Tom?”

He snapped out of his memory and turned to Mr. Everson.

“We’ll go over your first few scenes with Jason on Monday. Everyone else, you’re direct practice sessions have been listed on the door. Have a good weekend. And remember to not only memorize, but _feel_ the words!”

Julie walked off to check her cell phone while Tom slipped into his sweater and gathered his bag. He waved at her and then jumped from the stage, knowing that Chris was just outside waiting for him.

“Tom, wait!”

Turning, he saw Jason clambering down from the stage and jogging up the aisle toward him. He looked even taller in his black jeans and grey sweater.

“Hey,” he said a bit breathlessly, smiling widely.

“Hey,” Tom said softly, looking away quickly, slowly inching his way toward the door.

“Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend and go over lines.” He shook his head, looking a bit annoyed with himself. “That sounded a bit rehearsed, I’m sorry.”

Tom laughed softly, shrugging.

“But anyway, two of our scenes together will be reviewed by Everson next week and I was thinking we should go over them together. At least, preliminarily. If you’d like.”

“Oh, well…,” he stalled. He had no idea what to say. He and Chris were going to spend Saturday at the park. Chris wanted to work on some drills. Daniel and Jaime might join him, but Tom intended to sit under a tree and read his lines. “Well, Chris and I have plans on Saturday. But if I get some free time, maybe…” he finished a bit lamely.

Jason blinked and nodded after a moment. “Okay, sure. Let me just give you my number and you can text me if you’re free. My weekend is pretty much open.

Tom stood awkwardly as Jason tore a small piece of paper from his script and scribbled his phone number. He left his name off.

“Thanks,” Tom mumbled, stuffing the paper into his pocket. He started backing away. “Have a good weekend.”

“You, too. Maybe I’ll see you,” Jason replied.

Tom turned and fled the auditorium.

Stopping just outside the doors, he frowned. Chris wasn’t in the hallway where he usually waited.

Pushing through the double doors at the end of the hall, he squinted his eyes against the wind, cold and heavy. It had been warm in the theatre with all the moving around and lifting props. But the air outside was becoming crisper as the days passed. He would need to start wearing warmer clothing.

A row of hedges lined the sidewalk and he trailed his fingers over the brittle leaves. Rounding the corner, he froze when he caught sight of Chris standing by his car. Another vehicle was idling just next to him. Someone laughed from inside and then drove away, back tires squealing.

Jogging across to him, Tom stopped at his side. “Who was that?”

Chris turned to him, surprised. “Tom. I’m sorry. I came to drop off my bags and then I was going to head back in for you.”

His jaw was tight and he kept glancing back to see if the car was gone.

Tom picked up on his unease, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, softly touching his cheek. “Chris, who was that?”

Sighing, Chris leaned back against his car. “It was Eric. He was just being a dumbass as usual.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing important. Probably just trying to meet his daily quota of homophobic quips.”

Tom lowered his hand, feeling his face drop in disappointment. “I’m so sorry, Chris. I don’t want this to happen to you.”

Chris straightened and crowded Tom against the car, taking his face in his hands. “Nothing is happening to me, Tom. Eric likes to get off on thinking he has some kind of influence over people. Joke’s on him though. You’re the best influence I’ve ever had.”

They kissed, Tom’s lips shy against Chris, whose hand drifted down Tom’s face to cradle his neck, long fingers circling it gently.

Someone cleared their throat nearby and they broke apart, turning to the sound.

Jason was just clearing the edge of the hedges and walking inthe opposite direction, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. A small smile graced his full lips.

Chris turned away. “Why the fuck are people always interrupting us?”

Tom eyed Jason as he disappeared across the parking lot. “We have scenes together on Monday. He asked me to read lines with him this weekend.” Chris stayed quiet, waiting. “I told him you and I have plans tomorrow, but that maybe if I had time. He gave me his number, asked me to text him.” He shook his head, placing his cheek on Chris’s shoulder. “And we probably should. Meet, that is. So many of my scenes are with him.”

Chris shuffled closer. “As long as you are comfortable with it. I mean, you told me he makes you nervous. You have to consider that.”

“I am. That’s why I was thinking maybe I can invite him to the park tomorrow while you’re practicing with Danny and Jaime.” It went unsaid that he would feel better if Chris was nearby.

“If you’d like. I’m okay with anything you want.”

“Thank you.”

Chris gathered him close, the cold air cutting sharply around their too warm bodies. 

** 

Chris snuck into his room that night. The quiet was almost tangible, settling over Tom as he lay in bed. When he let Chris in through the window, the cool air swept down and wrapped around his bare feet. He hugged him, absorbing the chill still clinging to his skin and clothes. Yanking off his wool cap, Chris squeezed Tom tightly and breathed in the scent of his neck, murmuring that he missed him, that he couldn’t lie alone that night, that he needed to see him.

They crawled under the covers after Chris took his sweatshirt off, Tom folding himself easily in his arms.

Small whispers breathed on each other’s skin, soundless laughter, limbs interwoven, hands pulling and lips touching, until finally settling in an embrace that left no room for anything to come in between.

Goodnights sighed in low voices, fingers caressing the other’s face, and finally, sleep. 

** 

Morning found them bathed in bright sunlight. Tom was on his back when he squinted his eyes open. They’d forgotten to lower the blinds the night before and now his entire bed was lit with a cheery golden glow. Chris was asleep next to him, face pressed down in the pillow, his hand resting on Tom’s stomach.

Very slowly, Tom inched his way out from under him, pausing when Chris’s fingers tightened on his shirt before relaxing again. He was still asleep.

Slipping out of the room, he knew if Chris woke up he would just wait for him to come back.

Stopping in the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and washed his face before heading downstairs. His parents were sitting at the dining room table, drinking coffee. His dad was reading the paper and his mom was cutting out coupons from the specials section.

“Morning,” he said, quietly taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with orange juice.

“Hey, you. You’re up early.” His dad glanced at the clock. Six in the morning.

“Yeah. I was hungry. I’ll probably fall back asleep in a bit.” He grabbed an apple and toasted some bread, suddenly nervous and extremely giddy about the fact that Chris was upstairs in his bed.

“That’s fine. Your father and I are going to some yard sales today. Want to come along?”

He grimaced and shook his head. “No thanks. I’m meeting Chris at the park later.”

“How is Chris? You need to invite him over for dinner again.”

He swallowed his orange juice rapidly, walking to the fridge for more. “He’s doing fine. He’s preparing for tryouts late October.”

“That’s great. He’s going to be a shoo-in, though, right?” his dad said, smiling.

“Most likely.”

“Are you two doing anything for Halloween?”

Tom paused. He hadn’t even thought of it. “Um, not sure. Like going out for candy?”

“It’s a Friday night, this year. No parties?”

“I actually don’t know. Maybe.” He had to get out of there. “Anyway, I’m heading back upstairs. Good luck at the yard sales.”

He grabbed his buttered toast and bit the apple, taking the glass of juice in his other hand. His parents waved goodbye at him and he left the kitchen, hearing them talk about which houses to visit first.

Chris was still asleep when he got back to his room. He locked the door, even though his parents were about to leave. Putting the food on his desk, he climbed into bed again and settled next to his slumbering giant, smiling up at the ceiling.

“What are you so happy about?”

He jumped at the raspy whisper, turning to see Chris looking at him with one eye open.

“Nothing. Can’t I be happy?”

“Yes, babe. Of course you can.”

“I brought you orange juice and toast. The apple is mine. Don’t touch.”

“But what if I want to touch?”

Tom’s blood buzzed and he blushed, turning back to the ceiling.

He felt Chris move to hover over him, hand braced on either side of his head. His breath caught when he bent down, but instead of his lips, Chris placed a small kiss on the tip of Tom’s nose. He moved away and climbed out of bed, leaving Tom feeling flustered. Opening the door an inch, Chris peeked outside. Tom leaned up on his elbows and whispered, “They’re downstairs.” Turning, Chris winked and then left the room, quiet as a cat.

Outside, he heard car doors slam and then an engine starting. His parents were leaving.

He suddenly felt too hot and he flung the blanket away, reaching for the apple and taking a bite.

After a few minutes, Chris returned and took the toast, gulping down both slices and emptying the glass of juice.

Tom eyed him. “That was impressive.”

“Thank you. It was good.” He cocked his head, as if listening. “Are your parents gone?”

“Yes.”

They rested against his headboard and there was something so innately intimate about it that Tom couldn’t help but take Chris’s hand. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Your whispers didn’t wake me.”

“I do not whisper.”

“Um, yes you do. And it’s adorable.”

Tom grumbled something under his breath and nibbled on his apple.

Fingers poked him in the ribs and he jumped. “Hey!”

“Hey?” Poke. Poke.

He sat up. “Christopher. That tickles.”

Chris was smiling widely. “I know. I love it when you jump.”

“Yes, well…” He was turning away when Chris pulled him close and flipped them, settling on top.

“Yes, well, what?” Kissing down the side of his face, Chris held his wrists loosely, the apple lost somewhere in the process.

“Yes, well…” His mind fought to formulate a sentence as Chris licked just behind his ear. “Just kiss me, please.”

Chris took his face between his hands and kissed him, slowly, their lips touching and forming a tight bow before opening to let their tongues explore. The sharp tang of orange juice lit Tom’s taste buds and he groaned, shifting his hips.

Chris settled between his legs, a very noticeable erection pressing against Tom’s leg. His own cock was becoming harder with every kiss. Chris’s weight held him down, his hands running under Tom’s shirt to breeze over his nipples.

Gasping, Tom lifted his head and watched, fascinated as Chris smoothed a finger over the tiny little nub, squeezing gently before bending his head and licking it. Tom moaned and let his head fall back.

“Chris. Chris—.”

“I’m here, Tom,” he murmured and Tom felt his skin tighten with anticipation.

Chris was awakening in him a very insistent desire, one he’d always been curious about but as of late had made him very nervous.

He lifted his hands and smoothed his straight blond hair, swallowing loudly as Chris trailed kisses lower on his belly.

Fingering the edge of his sweat pants, he looked up at him. “May I?”

Numbly, Tom nodded and, hands gripping the sheets, watched as Chris slowly pulled down his pants and boxer shorts. His erection rested heavily against his stomach and Chris crawled up to lay on his lower body, face inches away from what felt like the center of his world.

Gripping the shaft in his long fingers, Chris buried his face in the curls at the base of his cock. Heat flushed Tom's face and his toes curled. He whimpered when Chris looked up at him, eyes blown black in the shining sunlight.

Using his thumb, Chris swirled the pre-come and started moving his hand. Tom was wound like a tight wire, propped up on his elbows, eyes wide, biting his lip.

"Let me hold you. Please," he whispered.

Sitting up immediately, Chris moved until he lay on his side, Tom's body stretched next to him. Their lips sought each other's and Tom's arms wrapped around his neck. His hand moved slowly up and down, fingers tightening and loosening as he crested the tip and back to the base again.

"F-fuck," Tom moaned, head bent back. Chris eyed his neck, his heartbeat accelerating, and Tom nodded breathlessly. "Do it, I know you want to."

Not needing to be told twice, Chris grazed the length of Tom's neck with his teeth, from ear to collarbone, chills forming down Tom’s spine. Finally finding his pulse point, and after a moment of sucking at the tender skin, Chris bit down.

Tom choked out a gasp as he arched, his hips lifting.

"Yes, Chris...god." He squeezed his eyes shut, his need to orgasm gathering strength. His hands clutched desperately at his broad back. Beneath his head, Chris inched his hand into Tom’s hair and yanked gently, fingers tightening on his scalp. His neck stretched further back, exposing his throat even more.

A surprised, “Oh!” fell from his lips softly as Chris whispered in his ear, “I’ve got you, just let go.”

Whining low in his throat, his balls pulled up tightly and Tom came violently, cock jumping in his hand. He cried out and jolted beneath Chris, who let go of his hair and held him close. His mind felt aflame, an incoherent thing, buzzing with the adrenaline pumping through his system, a type of white noise in his head. He was floating in it and it was delicious, this release, all tremors and sparks.

“There you are. It’s okay, babe.”

Chris’s voice came back to him in a haze. He was kissing Tom’s face, tiny cuddles that had him smiling lazily. Chris, his hand sticky with his come, gripped Tom to him, growling playfully in his ear.

A noise made them freeze, both looking at Tom’s pillow. His phone was hidden there and it was ringing.

“Please no,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands. He didn’t want to be interrupted again. Not now. Reaching across the bed, Chris retrieved it and looked at the screen.

“Your mom,” he said, passing him the device.

Tom stared at it.

“You should answer it. She might worry.”

Sighing, he pressed the green button. “Hello?”

“Oh, sweetheart, did I wake you?”

“Uh huh,” he droned, eyeing Chris suspiciously when he smiled wickedly at him and moved away a bit. Watching in disbelief, Chris put his hand down his own boxers and closed his eyes in unadulterated pleasure. Tom gulped while his mom went on about some kind of collection.

“W-what?” he stuttered, sitting up and looking at Chris touching himself through the fabric of his shorts.

“This collection of Shakespeare’s works. It’s really quite gorgeous and these folks are selling it for ridiculously cheap, but I was wondering if you already have these—.”

Chris moaned quietly, pressing his shoulders flat to the bed. Tom was gaping, his attention split in the most painful way.

“—Because I know you have _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_ , your father and I got those for you two Christmases ago, right, James? Two Christmases?” His father said something in the background.

“Mom! Really, if it’s too much, you don’t have to--.”

“Oh, nonsense! I was just thinking you should ride your bike down here to see for yourself. It’s only a few neighborhoods over and the man said he would--.”

“I’m just really…I just…” Tom swallowed, reaching down and covering Chris’s hand with his own, his cock hard and burning under their fingers. Chris stifled another groan, moving his hips. “I just want to…to sleep. I was sleeping.”

He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder and used both hands to yank down Chris’s shorts. Chris hissed and let his head fall back to the bed, pressing a closed fist to his mouth.

Tom stared down at his cock, swollen and red. Tentatively, he touching the tips of his fingers to it and gasped when it jumped.

“Why don’t I just get it for you and if you have them already, you can sell your other copies, because this collection is just beautiful and I’m sure you’d want them all uniform and--.”

“That’s a great idea, mom. Thanks a lot. For, uh, for thinking of me. Can I go back to sleep now?”

She laughed and told him he could. He choked out a goodbye and hung up, flinging the phone away. “You started without me,” he said eagerly. Straddling Chris’s legs, he leaned over him and kissed him, all tongue and teeth and open mouth.

“Mmm,” Chris moaned, jerking when Tom took his cock in hand again. “I did. I’m sorry. I’m a horrible boyfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Tom whispered, kissing him again. “You’re my boyfriend. My boyfriend. Mine.”

Chris tensed when he squeezed hard and Tom paused, worry etching over his features. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, babe. I’m so close. Please don’t stop.”

And so on his knees over Chris, he pumped his hand, kissing him, swallowing his moans. And when Chris came, a choked groan gritted out half sobbed, veined hands tangling in the blankets, Tom touched his face gently, thumb grazing his cheekbone, mesmerized at the way his face flushed.

“Christopher, my darling.” He relaxed his weight on Chris, who was still trying to catch his breath, face in the crook of his neck, feeling the hard pounding of his heart just beneath his hand. He moved his hips to further feel their naked lower bodies pressed together, all heat and hard lines.

“Hnng,” Chris groaned, his hands coming up to rest on Tom’s back. “Don’t. I’m going to combust.”

Tom laughed. “Whenever I’m around you, I end up filthy.”

“That is not my fault.”

“Oh, it absolutely was this time. You started the tickling.”

Chris chuckled, not at all apologetic. “You should go shower. I’ll go in after. And I would say let’s shower together, but I won’t be able to stop myself from devouring you. Besides, your parents might be back any moment.”

Tom huffed quietly, knowing he was right. But damn if he wanted to see Chris under the showerhead, water dripping from his long hair. He wanted to know what exactly he meant by ‘devouring’. “Fine. I’ll go first. I’ll only be a moment.”

And so they showered separately, Tom climbing from the bed, sticky limbed and blushing, laughing when Chris launched himself up and sat on the edge, hugging him around the waist, kissing his abdomen and pressing his face to Tom’s belly. He stroked his hair, his fingers skimming the stubble growing along his jawline.

It took him less than two minutes to wash up and pass the bathroom to Chris, who was leaning against the doorjamb when he opened it.

Back in his room, he leant Chris more boxers and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. The days were still relatively warm, plus he didn’t anticipate they would be getting home late enough that the temperature would drop significantly. Once he had his backpack ready with a water bottle, his script, and his copy of the play he bought from the bookstore, he looked at Chris expectantly.

Chris was watching him. “You are so adorable.”

Tom looked down self-consciously. “What? Why?”

“With your water bottle and your book and your papers. Do you have sunscreen in there, too?”

“Shut it, you,” he said, trying to poke Chris in the ribs. Chris just gathered him up tight and kissed him.

Breathless. “Let’s go.”  

Chris put on what he was wearing the night before, forgetting his sweatshirt on the floor. Tom spied it, but said nothing, secretly pleased he was leaving it.

They stopped by his house and Chris changed into new basketball shorts and a muscle shirt. He packed his own sports bag with water and a spare shirt, plus a towel. He threw in a bottle of sunscreen at the end.

Tom stood to the side smiling, but Chris raised a finger. “Not a word.”

When Chris pulled into the lot at the park, he killed the engine and they sat in silence.

“Are you going to text him?”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of thinking I might as well.”

Chris nodded, a bit stiffly. “As good a time as any.”

“But are you okay with it? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Chris turned to him and shook his head, taking his hand. “I’m not going to lie. He makes me a bit uncomfortable. But I’m not going to forbid you from doing something just because I’m a little jealous.”

“Jealous? But why?”

He shrugged and looked out the windshield. “I don’t know. I think he likes you.”

Tom frowned, but he sat back, thinking. In all honesty, he had felt the same thing, too. The way Jason had stared at him in the cafeteria or how he was looking at him the first time they saw each other in class.

“You feel it, too, huh?” Chris was smiling at him knowingly.

Something in him strengthened, like a flower closing up tightly in a bud somewhere in his chest. He squeezed Chris’s hand. “He has no chance.”

Chris smiled wide and he leaned across the seat, taking Tom’s neck in hand. “I know he doesn’t, babe. But if you get too uncomfortable or want to stop in any way, just signal and I’ll come over.”

Tom smiled and kissed his cheek. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Chris waited for Danny and Jaime at the courts, Tom went to his usual tree, midway bare of leaves. Sitting on the soft grass turned yellow and brittle, he opened his book and began reading. He had text Jason in the car, asking if he wanted to join him at the park. A reply had come back a minute later, saying that he would be there in twenty minutes.

And so now he waited, making notes in the margin of his script after referencing a direct quote from the main text, occasionally looking out at Chris shooting the ball.

From just behind the tree, he heard footsteps and tensed.

Jason appeared around the side, holding a well-read book, his script haphazardly shoved into the pages. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Tom said, squinting up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Chris stopped dribbling the ball to look over at them. Tom waved at him and Chris waved back.

Jason turned to look and caught sight of Chris resuming his drills. “Ah. Supervision?”

“No. I always read here while he practices on the weekend. It’s quiet and usually not too warm. But, I figure it will get too cold to do so for much longer.”

“Yes, most likely.” He continued to stand awkwardly, before finally indicating the spot of dirt beside Tom. “May I?”

And it reminded Tom so much of Chris asking that same question earlier but under much different circumstances that he nodded quickly, hoping he turned away in time to hide his blush.

Jason took a seat at his side, noiselessly and smooth, and Tom recognized how graceful he was. Probably what helped him get the role of Oberon, he thought. Although, his voice was quite sonorous and deep. That might have had some bearing, too.

He cleared his throat. “So. How did you want to do this? I believe the scene where Oberon describes the flower to Puck will be up first.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Do you have it all memorized?”

Tom nodded. “Your lines, too.”

Jason turned to him, surprise lifting his dark eyebrows. “Impressive. Why don’t we do a basic run through and then we can discuss how you and I would like to portray this while on stage.”

Taking his script out, Tom sat up and faced Jason, throwing a cursory glance over at Chris. Daniel and Jaime had joined him sometime in the last few minutes. They were gathered under the basket, talking quietly.

“I’ll start,” Jason said and Tom turned back to him, reminding himself to focus.

After an hour of reciting lines and exchanging notes, Tom leaned back and fanned his face. The early afternoon was warmer than he anticipated. He and Jason were crowded in the shade cast by the tree, barely a foot between them.

“I think I know how Everson is going to want us to play this.”

“Our roles?”

Jason nodded. “He saw a rendition of this play when in London over the summer. At The Globe. He gushed about it. Anyway, the actors who portrayed Puck and Oberon were extremely intimate onstage, lots of touching and lifting up in the air. They even kissed at one point.”

Tom turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not saying that’s what Everson will want us to do, but you get the idea. He seemed very excited about it when I talked with him the other day. He wants them to be familiar, intimate. Fast friends, full of confidence.”

“Well, that is accurate,” Tom conceded, but his mind was full of images of him and Jason having to touch repeatedly, knowingly, and he swallowed anxiously. He didn’t know if that was even true. He would wait to hear what Mr. Everson told them on Monday.

They sat quietly, Tom watching Chris across the way. There was something on his mind that he felt he just needed to ask. He didn’t care if he barely knew Jason, it was bothering him to want to know. “Are you friends with Eric Samuels?”

Jason threw him a confused look. “Yes.”

Tom didn’t understand. Jason didn’t seem to harbor the kind of negative emotions Eric did, spewing them out like venom. “But why?”

Jason smirked and looked down. “He’s changed a bit since I moved. He wasn’t always so…”

“Like an asshole?” Tom asked and then flushed red.

Jason laughed softly, watching him. “Eric is incredibly insecure about a lot of things. He supposedly got hit on by some guy when I was away and that blew a fuse or something. He’s been more angry than usual, is what I’ve found out.” He shook his head and picked at the dead grass. “He told me all about the party before school. I got back earlier in the summer, but I didn’t want to go when someone text me about it. Now I wish I had. I would have been able to stop him. He said some pretty nasty things to you. And I’m sorry about that.”

“He was drunk. I doubt anyone could have stopped him.”

Jason smiled. “I would have.”

Tom said nothing, just stared at the dirt.

“Your boyfriend loves you. Anyone can tell. He would do anything to protect you. I’m glad he was there with you.”

Tom’s head snapped up. Jason thought Chris loved him? His surprise must have shown on his face because Jason laughed again, his hands curling his script into a tight cylinder.

“Tom, really. I just got here and I could tell right off the bat.”

He shrugged. “Yes, well. I wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for Chris. Parties weren’t really things I went to before him.”

Jason nodded and then his face turned serious. “Tom, I think I need to be honest you with you about something. About Sh--.” But his eyes glanced behind Tom and he straightened quickly. “Wait—don’t move. There’s a spider on the tree.”

Tom felt the blood drain from his face and he jumped to his feet, his script and book falling to the ground.

Jason clambered to one knee. “What’s wrong? It’s harmless. I was just going to shoo it away.”

Tom backed away, a hand to his chest. “Please. Just kill it.”

Distantly, he heard a gate slam and then running footsteps approached.

“Tom!”

Chris appeared at his side, dropping his bag on the ground. He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder, eyes never leaving Jason, still kneeling on the ground.

Tom was catching his breath, his heart racing. Memories of the pain in his back, only just recently completely disappeared, the dizziness, the nausea, how very _weak_ he’d been. It all came flooding to the front of his mind. He grasped Chris’s forearm to steady himself.

“It’s alright,” he said, remembering how on edge Chris was about the whole situation. “There was a spider and I—well, I overreacted.” He hated how helpless he sounded over a damn _spider._

Chris took his arm and turned him away. “You have every right to overreact, Tom. Are you okay? Were you bit?”

“No. I’m okay, really. Jason was about to kill it.”

Chris tossed Jason a glare, but Jason didn’t see it. He stood up and shrugged. “It’s gone now.” He opened his hands questioningly. “Are…you okay?”

Tom took Chris’s hand and he could feel the heat radiating off of him. His skin was slick with sweat. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. We had something of a spider scare over the summer and I’m still a bit…uneasy, I guess.” Chris squeezed his hand softly.

“You’re allergic,” Jason said.

He nodded.

Jason glanced down at their joined hands before nodding also. “Well, as long as you’re okay, I think I’ll head out now.” He gathered his book and script, smiling at Tom kindly. “Thanks for practicing with me, Tom.”

Tom was still shaking slightly, but he nodded and murmured, “You’re welcome.” Jason looked at Chris briefly before turning away and walking off to the side, where he picked up his bike leaning on a bike rack Tom hadn’t noticed before.

He rode away and out of sight.

Tom sighed and turned to Chris, hugging him hard.

“Hey,” Chris whispered, his breath tickling Tom’s ear. “Babe, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I was being stupid.”

Chris pulled back, taking his face in both hands. “No, you aren’t stupid. Tom, you were severely ill this summer. You…you almost died,” he whispered. “There’s no way around that truth. Spiders can all go fuck themselves, for all I care.” Tom laughed quietly, still a bit embarrassed. “They almost took you from me. I promise I will kill every spider for the rest of our lives if it means you aren’t afraid anymore.”

He took a moment to collect himself. “I’m okay now. Please.”

Chris studied him and then sighed. “I thought he tried something.”

“He would have been stupid to make a move on me with you just right there. And we shouldn’t even be saying that! Who knows if he’s even interested in me that way.” Chris tossed him an incredulous look. Tom rubbed at his eyes, the glare of the sun suddenly too bright. “I think we’re all a little paranoid over a number of things. I say we hibernate the rest of the winter.”

Chris chuckled. “I have no problem with that.”

“I didn’t think you would. I’m sorry about interrupting your practice.”

“No, we were already through. Danny and Jaime left just before I looked over and saw you. I was going to shoot some hoops by myself, but I’d rather not now.”

Reaching down to pick up Tom’s book and script, he put them in his backpack and Tom slung it on. Chris threw his arm over his shoulders and they started toward his car. “I’m hungry. Really, extremely, aggressively hungry. Do I smell? I feel like I smell.”

“No, you don’t,” Tom said, hugging him around the waist as they walked, pressing his nose into his neck. “And what should we eat?”

They looked at each other and smiled, saying at the same time, “Pizza!”

Chris laughed. “Good. But my treat.”

Tom’s heart was still beating in his throat, but he rolled his eyes and hugged him tighter. “Yes, Christopher.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few notes: I know that Tom is older than Chris by two years IRL, but I've made them only 6 months apart in this story.
> 
> Also, if I get something wrong regarding the play Tom and Jason are practicing for, I am so so sorry. I am in no way a Shakespeare expert and was only able to do rudimentary research. I hope it's not awful!
> 
> Lastly, just a warning: there will be a conversation later in the chapter about a past rape. It's not explicitly detailed, but please be aware.
> 
> As always, thank you for your lovely messages and patience between updates.

“So, when Jason begins to describe this flower to you, this tiny delicate flower, I really want you two to be close together on stage. Almost huddled. The spotlight will be on the two of you, the rest of the stage dark. There will be green foliage surrounding you, stuff we’re still designing, but enough to convey that you are in the forest.”

Mr. Everson walked across the stage to where Tom and Jason stood awkwardly side-by-side. Tom was making a great effort to stay focused on what Mr. Everson was saying. But he and Jason had been working on this one scene for over forty minutes, with Mr. Everson constantly cutting in with advice. Something always needed to be adjusted or they fumbled their lines or Mr. Everson would be struck with an idea and they would start over. Both he and Jason had a sheen of sweat on their faces. Overheated from the stage lights, they had stripped off their sweaters long ago. The rest of the class was separated into groups that worked on props, backstage arrangements, or their own scenes in different parts of the auditorium.

Quite frankly, it was a bit hard to concentrate with Jason as his main partner. Tom had all the lines memorized but he would stumble over delivering them when he wouldn’t anticipate fast enough Jason’s sudden closeness throughout the scene or when he caught Jason staring at him, which wasn’t all that uncalled for since they were in the middle of reciting dialogue. It was made more and more evident to him that Jason seemed to always be on the verge of saying something to him, that the intense stares were one part attraction and one part searching for the right opening. But Tom was getting frustrated with himself, antsy that he was blundering through what should have been a simple scene to land. He rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension and focused again on Mr. Everson.

“Now, Oberon and Puck are very intimate, close friends.” Jason cast Tom an I-told-you-so look that Tom quickly dismissed with a shake of his head. “I would like to portray that through touching. Hands on shoulders and chests, leaning close, whispers and private jokes with laughter. The audience needs to feel like Puck will do anything Oberon tells him, that’s why he goes on these wild errands, often messing them up and trying to put things right again all on his own.” Taking Tom’s arm, Mr. Everson pulled gently, arranging Tom low to the floor. He crouched beside Mr. Everson, who was acting in Jason’s roll.

“This moment is what sets everything in motion, in my opinion. Oberon tells Puck about this flower that casts a love charm, the beginning of all the chaos. And the thing about these characters is that they are sharing in a secret. I’d like the both of you to be on your stomachs. For now, just lie on the stage. But during the real performance, there will be a faux boulder that you both will be able to lie on, staring out into the forest, in the general direction of the audience, as Oberon formulates this plot.”

Tom moved low and rested on his belly. Mr. Everson gestured to Jason, who walked behind Tom and bent to lie right next to him.

Dust from the stage floor rose to circle Tom’s face and he rubbed an itch on his nose. He tensed when Jason’s body heat radiated over his left side, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and loosen his back muscles. Pressing his chest flat, he relaxed when Jason kept a certain height over him by leaning on one elbow, his other hand resting warmly on Tom’s back.

“Good,” Mr. Everson was saying, backing away and checking the angles of their position. “Go ahead and say a few lines, Jason. Whatever you might have memorized.”

And so, while Jason kept his eyes on some middle distance, he inclined his head closer to Tom’s, as if confiding some privileged secret, and whispered a line out over the stage. He used his free hand to gesture idly, long fingers curling slightly. It was imperial, the way he spoke, almost lazily, but still with a bit of excitement. The richness of his voice cast out in seemingly dark waves over the first few rows. He would, of course, use a higher volume for the performance, but now it was sufficient enough for the exercise. It was a strong voice, profound. And Tom was slightly captivated by it.

As Jason recited his line, Tom made sure to stare out at the same long distance spot, his face wide open with wonder and just enough innocence that could still be explained away despite the mischievous nature of his character. At one point, he turned his head to stare at Jason with a small amount of delight, trying to convey the sense of enchantment Oberon had over Puck. 

“Good! Tom, that’s perfect. Great stuff. I’m thinking this is the spot I will have you during the play. I’ll have it marked.” He checked his watched and clapped his hands twice. “Okay, everyone. Start wrapping up your projects. Ten minutes left until you’re let out.”

Jason rolled away from Tom and quickly got to his feet. Tom was about to do the same when a hand reached down. He looked up at Jason’s smiling face, and reached up to grasp his waiting hand. He lifted him up and Tom let his hand go quickly. Mr. Everson came over and clasped Tom on the shoulder. “Good job, boys. Tell me something quickly. How do you feel about your characters?”

Jason shrugged and picked at a cuticle absentmindedly. “He’s a king and he knows it. He has a charm that can turn savage at a moment’s notice. He is jealous. He claims things for himself. I feel he is of the earth, maybe dirty in a way that doesn’t evoke uncleanliness. Just a light layer of dust on him. Same as Puck. I feel they have that in common. The layer of dust.” He looked at Tom and cleared his throat. “Perhaps he has markings on him, too, like natural tattoos.”

Mr. Everson stared at him a moment and then nodded before turning to Tom.

“His mischief is foremost in my mind. His need to want to please Oberon, to prove he can do these things on his own. I think he likes to be noticed, even if he’s supposed to remain in the shadows. Perhaps his attachment to Oberon is the driving force behind everything concerning him, but that’s always something we can play with.”

“Excellent points. And yes, I agree with both. And as the semester goes forth, we can develop that relationship further. I will speak to my assistants about your makeup for the performance. I like the idea of a layer of dirt and darker, natural looking markings on the king. I’m thinking about some glitter for Tom’s face, but I will give that some more thought. Anyway, good job. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.” He shook both their hands and left them to speak to the other groups.

Tom was already heading in the direction of the steps at the corner of the stage when Jason caught up with him. “Think that went okay?”

“Sure. It’s a start, anyway.” He bent by his backpack and took out his sweater. It was warm in the theatre but would be cold outside and he didn’t want to get sick because of it. Jason zipped up his jacket and checked his phone. He stood by while Tom put his bag over his shoulder. Was he waiting for him?

“So, what got you into drama?” Jason asked when Tom started up the aisle.

Tom paused, surprised by the question. “Um, well. It was a combination of things, I guess. Mainly my love for Shakespeare. I’ve read nearly everything by him. But from that it stems to movies I’ve seen, plays I’ve attended.” He blushed, looking down. “Anyway, like I said. A number of things.”

Jason was nodding, but he slowed his walk the closer they got to the door. “I understand. When I moved away, I was…going through a bit of a rough time. I’m not much into sports, but the school I started attending had a small drama club that met after classes. It wasn’t even part of the curriculum.” Despite himself, Tom became intrigued. They lingered at the end of the aisle, about five feet from the exit. “Don’t ask me how I ended up there,” Jason continued, leaning back against a seat in the last row. “But I was hooked. And I started participating and soon I was nabbing roles from people who’d been there longer than me. It was…well, it was what brought me out of where I’d been in my head. A bad place.”

Tom frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jason started picking at his cuticle, a nervous habit Tom guessed. “It was the whole reason why my family moved away. That and my father had the opportunity to change jobs within the same company. When things started going…badly for me, he took the chance and moved us away.” He shrugged, but Tom sensed tension in the way his shoulders moved up and down. “His company is the reason we’re back. They needed him here. We never sold the house and we just moved back in. I’m not sure how I feel about returning here.” He looked around the auditorium, as if was the embodiment of everything he felt uncertain about.

They were silent, Tom thinking over what he’d just heard. Behind him the door opened and he heard his name. Turning, he saw Chris poking his head in, his smile fading when he saw Jason sitting a few feet from him. He was raising his hand to greet Chris when it hit him. Over the weekend, that day in the park, Jason had been on the verge of telling him something. He’d never finished his sentence and Tom’s panic about the spider had wiped it from his mind completely.

He threw a quick smile at Chris and held up a finger before turning back to Jason. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Saturday at the park. Before the spider, what were you about to tell me? It sounded like something important and I only just remembered.”

Jason swallowed and his eyes danced over Tom’s face before flicking behind him, no doubt looking at Chris. “It’s probably best I don’t say anything here, Tom,” he whispered. “But I want you to know. I think you deserve to know.”

“But what is so urgent about it? What does it have to do with me? We only just met each other.”

Jason smiled and straightened. “I know. But we’ll talk about this another time. Someone is getting a bit antsy.” He winked at Chris behind his back and clapped Tom on the shoulder before turning and walking back down the aisle toward the stage. “See in English tomorrow, Tom.”

Tom stared after him and then turned to Chris, who was waiting just outside the open door. His foot propped it open as Tom stepped through. “What was that about?”

“Honestly, I have no idea.” He laughed quietly but cut off when Chris took him by the waist abruptly and pulled him up against his chest. His kiss was gentle but insistent, tongue pushing into Tom’s mouth so he moaned without realizing it. Chris pressed him against the wall, the books in his backpack poking into his shoulder blades. They broke apart, breathing hard, Tom’s eyes hooded. “What was that about?” he said, echoing Chris’s earlier question.

Chris shook his head. "I just...I--." He cut off.

Tom cupped his cheek. "You have no reason to be jealous, Chris," he said softly, eyes searching the other's face. Chris had his head low, eyes on the ground. His hand on the wall behind Tom was fisted. "Darling...," he whispered, wrapping his arms around Chris's neck and pulling him close. "You know I'm yours, right?"

"Yes," Chris replied, blue eyes meeting his own. "And I'm yours."

Tom smiled and brought his lips to Chris's mouth. "Good."

They laughed quietly and Chris kissed him again, softer, quicker. Tom let himself be led when Chris took his hand and pulled him toward the exit.

"It is curious," he said later in the car, on their way home. "He said I deserve to know. But know what?" He frowned and bit his thumbnail absentmindedly.

Chris shrugged his shoulders as he drove. "Probably how in love with you he is." He smiled and turned to Tom, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"No, I highly doubt that."

"I was just teasing," Chris said, laughing. "Well, maybe."

"Stop. Or else." He pinched the tender skin between thumb and pointer finger, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that Chris jumped.

“That hurt!” He tried to wrap an arm around Tom, who squirmed away, laughing.

“Now, who is the one jumping? Christopher, watch the road!”

Chris laughed again and focused ahead, but not before narrowing his eyes at Tom with fake menace. “Just wait, Thomas. Just you wait.” He winked at him.

Tom felt his face warm at the playful warning in Chris’s tone.

"I do get the distinct impression, though, that he likes to tease me with you."

"Hardly," Tom said, but paused, remembering how Jason had winked at Chris and then touched Tom’s shoulder. He quickly put the thought out of his mind. "It almost sounded like he was about to say...” He sighed. “But maybe not."

"Say what?"

"Well, I think he was going to say something about Shaw."

They sat in silence, a song playing quietly on the radio. Chris turned into their neighborhood and pulled in front of his house. They were going to finish their Spanish homework and then read a bit for their history class before Tom would need to be home for dinner. Chris’s parents weren’t home yet, so he took one of the open spaces in front of the garage rather than parking along the curb.

Shutting the engine off, he asked quietly, “What makes you say that?”

Tom immediately picked up on the way Chris’s face closed off slightly, the mere mention of Mr. Shaw driving away the light mood. “Because it sounded like he was about to say his name. He never did though. It’s only conjecture.”

Chris nodded. “Well then. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Taking the keys from the ignition, he opened his door. He came around the side of the car as Tom was getting out. He took his hand and fished for his house keys.

They went into his room and Tom sat at the edge of the bed while Chris emptied his pockets of loose change and sticks of gum and chewed down pencil stubs. There was still plenty of light coming in through the window, glaring brightly off his sports posters and shiny medals.

Tom was removing his binder from within his backpack when Chris sat beside him.

“Tom.”

He looked up, confusion scrunching his brow. “Yes, Chris?”

“Thomas.”

He had a second’s warning before his eyes went wide and Chris was suddenly on him. His binder fell to the floor, landing face up to reveal class notes and stapled handouts.

“Chris!” he said, laughter rising up his chest as Chris growled teasingly at his throat. He took Tom’s wrists and held them above his head. The collar of Tom’s shirt had snagged under his shoulder and Chris stared at the smooth white skin, now clear of the mark he’d left there weeks ago.

“Thomas, my Thomas,” he murmured and felt Tom shiver beneath him. His legs were trying to gain some leverage against the bed to lift against him, but Chris threw his right leg over both of Tom’s and anchored him close. Tom, immobilized, huffed and whined low in his throat.

He gasped his name and turned his head away, giving more of himself to Chris, who kissed him softly and whisper-light. Before Tom could brace himself for it, Chris used his teeth to pinch the tender skin where shoulder and neck met. Tom groaned, heat rushing down his spine. 

Gently gripping Tom’s jaw in his fingers, he continued pinching until Tom started shivering and tried lifting his hips again. The small noises he was making ignited Chris’s blood like a spark. Wanting to bite that neck fully and so badly, Chris focused on the spot Tom could hide under his clothing, sucking at it, the color changing right before his eyes as the salt of Tom’s skin burst over his tongue.

Tom’s free hand clawed at his back, clutching at him, fingers digging hard.

That night after the party, everything happened so fast. It had been so dark in the car. And while Tom had held Chris in his hand for the first time that night, he’d wanted more time to commit it all to memory. The danger of being found out, the cramped quarters, the urgency, the feel of Chris's hand over his mouth...made it so that it was nearly a blur, with only Chris and his scent and hot weight and finally seeing him come the only things he recalled clearly. He wanted to take it slow, to learn him, but they hadn't had the time. And so they had fumbled in the dark, their orgasms colliding over them.

And then their time in his room, such sweet memories that he folded away in his mind to think about when he fell asleep alone at night. The way Chris flushed from chest to cheeks when he came, his eyes rolling back, the way he said Tom’s name. It always seemed like they never had enough time.

It was a kind of fascination, Chris thought, feeling Tom in this way. The harder he bit, the softer he sucked at his skin, the more Tom seemed to give him permission for something further. Chris was always so cautious with that. He didn’t want to overstep his bounds, but Tom, while still maintaining a semblance of fear and nervousness that Chris couldn’t help but pick up on, never refused him when they messed around like this. His desire for Chris was plainly evident and the emotions a yearning like this caused did not need to be made more confusing by the terror and panic of remembering when someone had tried to force him against his will. And he truly believed him when he said that he felt safe with Chris, that he trusted him. Fear was something he never wanted to extend upon him. Fear was something he related to an abuser like Shaw, who when they saw in the hallways would ignore them completely, never noticing, or perhaps not wanting to notice, how Tom would slip his hand into Chris’s, inching closer to him, very nearly making himself disappear behind the line of his shoulder.

And it angered Chris, how Tom was made to feel so much _smaller_ when around Shaw, with just his presence dimming that light in his eyes. Chris would do his best to buffer him from that, would always try to notice Shaw first so that he could stand in front of Tom, lead him in a conversation that would distract him. But Tom sometimes noticed him anyway, in that strange way that a threat is honed in upon, inherently, unmistakably, from within one’s chest where the heart would begin a panicked beat. Tom would look up at Chris and his fingers would tighten on his shirt and he would smile, a bit sadly, and Chris would feel entirely helpless to stop it.

Until moments like these, when they were alone, when Tom was as close to uninhibitedly revealing his desire as Chris had ever seen, these quiet moments when they would whisper to each other, when they would pull and gasp, when Chris would lay his weight on him and Tom would wrap his arms tight, cheek to cheek, a soft kiss on his ear. Moments like these, which were not always about their physical knowledge of each other—which was increasing almost daily and was so mesmerizing to Chris—but about the intimacy that they both needed, the assurance of the other’s presence in their lives, what had once started as a pretend situation and what had evolved into insurmountable emotions, these were the moments that Chris knew he loved Tom with his entire being.

Tom groaned quietly, fingers in his hair, massaging gently. Biting down one last time, Chris raised himself up and stared down at Tom, adoring how his eyes fluttered even as his hands scrambled to hold Chris closer still. Tom blinked his eyes open and blushed a deep pink, making the mark on his shoulder pulse darkly. Teeth marks rose up as sharp points of red, pinpointed by purple swirling to the surface.

“Now we’re even,” Chris whispered and Tom smiled.

“I need to pinch you more often, then.”

Chris nudged his forehead against his jaw playfully and cuddled down on his neck. “Why are we so kinky?” he asked lazily and Tom chuckled beneath him.

“Oh, Christopher. One day we will find out just how kinky we both are.”

Chris lifted his head, failing to keep the surprise off his face. “Tom, we don’t have--.”

“Oh, but I want to, my—.” He hesitated. “…darling.” He flushed and stared up at the ceiling. Chris could see his pulse jumping erratically.

His own heartbeat spiked, wanting to hear what he knew Tom had meant to say.

“Anyway,” Tom whispered, not looking at him. “Maybe we won’t be kinky at all and all we’ll ever want is only each other.” He breathed quietly and blinked. “I’m open to any and all possibilities, if it’s with you. In time.” His blue eyes opened, a touch of apology in their depths. “I just need time, Chris.”

Chris rose up on his elbows. “And you’ll have it. Tom, if I’ve pressured you in--.”

“But you haven’t. If you had tried to…to _force_ me in some way to do something I didn’t want to do, I would have struggled. I have would told you no, to stop. But I _never_ feel that need with you because you would never do that. It’s not in your nature. You aren’t depraved like…like he is. I’ve told you before, I so desperately want to be closer to you than any other person. Even this,” he said, fingers brushing lightly on the bruise Chris left on his shoulder. “This,” he whispered, closing his eyes, his face radiant with delight, “I love that you left this on me. It isn’t pain. It’s an ache that I feel throughout my day. Like the one you gave me before, I know I’ll touch it through my shirt, gently, just enough to feel the twinge it gives me. And you come rushing to the front of my mind, my Christopher.” He touched Chris’s face, brushing blond strands of hair behind his ear.

Chris couldn’t help it. His eyes started to sting and his vision blurred. “Tom,” he said, a quiet sob that had Tom reaching up, concerned.

“Oh, no. Don’t cry. It’s alright, I promise it is.”

Folding Chris in his arms tightly, he smoothed his hair and rocked him slowly. But Chris had a restlessness in his bones and he couldn’t hold still, not until he said it.

Pressing his lips to Tom’s, he kissed him once, twice, and then took his head between his hands. “I love you, Tom. I do.” Kiss. “I love you and you’re all I think about.” Kiss. “And I will keep you safe and whole and everything you are is all I could ever hope to be and keep and hold as my own.” Kiss. “And I never thought I would experience this huge fire I have in my ribcage at only eighteen, but I do. And it’s all for you. You’re seventeen and I’m eighteen and we have years, Tom. We have years.”

Tom lay frozen, eyes wide with surprise. “Chris…”

“Please. Don’t feel obligated to say the same in return. I just needed you to know how I feel.”

Tom grabbed his hair and pulled him down, his kiss hard, their teeth clacking.

Chris pulled back, grimacing. “Ow.”

“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. But he shook his head in wonder and disbelief. “Oh, Chris. I really don’t think you know how very much in love with you I am.”

Chris smiled, remembering Tom whispering that very thing in his sleep not long ago. The tears in his eyes threatened to fall. “I think I do, Tom. I really think I do. I think I've known all along.”

They grinned and he leaned in for a kiss, sweet and slow, Tom’s hands shaking at the back of his neck. They broke apart and both started giggling, jean-clad legs entwining, offering butterfly kisses between breaths.

“But Chris,” Tom said, brows scrunched.

Chris felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“I’m actually not seventeen.”

He frowned. “Sixteen? But how?”

And Tom laughed, a big throaty laugh, head pressed back, his adam’s apple bobbing. Tears came to his eyes and Chris hastily wiped at his own, not understanding what was so funny. “I’m eighteen.”

“Wait. Does that mean…?”

“That I’m older than you? I am. By six months.”

Chris must have had a stunned look on his face because Tom started laughing again, white teeth flashing.

And because Tom looked even more gorgeous when this happy than he’d ever seen, impossibly so, Chris gathered him up and smothered his neck with kisses. “My old man.”

“Your old man,” Tom said, smiling, wrapping him up tight.

**

By night, Chris was with him more often in the form of online chatting, with whispers that became more delicate somehow over the space of invisible lines of speeding light; or by text messaging, telling each other good night; or in the form of his sweater, which Tom wore to bed, the scent of his boyfriend present every time he turned over or squeezed his arms tight around himself. Less often, and only for the sake of not wanting them to get caught, Chris himself would sneak into his room and they would fall asleep to the sound of their breathing, hands at each other's backs, fingers twitching with restraint.

As much as Tom wanted to know what Jason had meant to tell him, they hadn't had a chance to speak privately for a couple of days. By this time, the bruise Chris had left on his shoulder had turned a dark purple. Tom looked at it every morning, touching it softly. He would remove Chris’s sweatshirt after waking, folding it carefully and putting it under his pillow, and then stare into the mirror at the mark Chris gave him. It was with a rush of affection crowding the inside of Tom's ribs that he thought of Chris. His giant.

Even now, as Chris pulled into the parking lot at school, Tom gazed at him, not entirely believing that he was real.

Just before math, Chris took him to a secluded corner and leaned them against the wall, taking his face and kissing him. There were kids all down the hall, but hardly any by the doors closest to them. He didn't know what it was about this kiss out of their many, but Tom started to shake and took a handful of Chris's shirt, pressing his forehead to his neck.

"Remember what you've already done against him,” Chris said, wrapping him in a hug. “You stopped him, Tom. When you needed the most help and no one was around, not...not even me. You stopped him. It's only one hour with him and then you're done. Okay?"

Tom nodded, saying nothing, only feeling Chris and his warmth and his hands holding him steady.

Shaw looked up when he walked in, his eyes softening, his hands faltering on the stack of papers he was holding. Tom's stomach soured and he sank into the seat by the door.

It wasn't soon enough that the bell rang, after an hour of Tom avoiding Shaw's gaze or freezing up when he lingered by Tom's desk after passing assignments back. His skin crawled every time he got near, cringing when the student next to him asked a question, an opportunity Shaw used to come and kneel in their aisle, explaining the problem in full, giving examples, speaking lowly, using Tom's desk to help him stand again, all while Tom shied away, breath held anxiously. 

Heart pounding, he walked out on stiff limbs, not noticing the tension in his body until Chris appeared before him and he all but went limp in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. Tom, voice lost, only squeezed him tighter.

**

“You’ve been sullen since class started.”

Tom blinked and looked around at Jason, who’d come to stand beside him. He shrugged and crossed his arms. “I’m just a bit distracted is all.”

“Hmm.” Jason smiled and gestured to the floor. “One more time?”

Tom cleared his throat and nodded.

They had gone over the scene where Oberon describes the flower to Puck half a dozen times, but class was nearly over and once more couldn’t hurt.

Tom lay down at the X marked on the floor. Beside him, Jason did the same. Everything was becoming routine: Jason slightly higher than him, his hand on his back, the whisper of confidence. Tom was beginning to relax when this close to him.

Just before launching into his line, Jason’s gaze flicked to his shoulder and he smiled.

“Nice hickey.”

Tom looked down and saw that his shirt had caught under his elbow and the collar had slipped, exposing the purple bruise on his shoulder. He scrambled back, adjusting it as heat flooded his face. He looked around frantically, but no one seemed to have seen or heard anything.

Jason stayed where he was, smiling. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s impressive.” He looked Tom up and down. "Is it your first one?"

Beet red, Tom shifted away by an inch, unable to form an answer, unsure if he even wanted to. But Jason seemed one step ahead of him.

"Maybe you've had one before. But all of them with him, right?"

Tom turned to him, his voice lower than he intended. "That's really none of your business."

Jason pursed his lips thoughtfully and then shrugged. "You're right. Sorry. I think I have boundary issues.” He laughed. “But maybe you should be careful with those. I think you might be shirtless for the play." He picked himself up from the floor and offered his hand to Tom. He shook his head and got up on his own as Mr. Everson announced the end of class.

The tension was palpable and Tom felt his exhaustion all of sudden. He meant to ask Jason to talk after class about whatever he had wanted to tell him, but he was a bit annoyed with him at the moment—what he and Chris did in private really didn't concern him and he should be more polite about it—so he hurried to collect his things and was out the door before Jason could stop him.

Chris was in the hallway playing on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, smiling, putting the device away in his pocket. He took one look at Tom’s face and closed the space between them in a hug. “You okay?”

Voice muffled against his shoulder, Tom said, “Fine.”

Chris looked him in the eye. “What is it? Did he finally tell you?”

Tom sighed and shook his head.

Something tightened in Chris’s face and he let Tom go, walking around him.

“Chris!” he whispered, watching as he disappeared into the auditorium. Tom stood in the hall, hands in his pockets and looked around, confused.

A second later, the door opened and Chris walked out holding Jason by the elbow. He pushed him against the wall and stabbed a finger into his chest.

 “Go on, then. Tell us.”

“Chris, wait,” Tom said, rushing to his side and holding his arm.

Jason laughed quietly and straightened his shirt. He brushed Chris’s hand away, his face turning serious. “I think this is between Tom and I.”

Chris took a step closer. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, voice low.

“Darling, stop,” Tom said, taking his arm in both hands. Jason’s eyes flicked to his at his use of endearment. Not liking the scrutiny, Tom bristled slightly. “Whatever it is, Chris can hear it.” The situation was quickly getting out of hand and this needed to be said already, whatever it was.

“But Chris doesn’t know. He has no idea.”

“What are you talking about?” Chris said through gritted teeth.

Jason sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He looked down and said nothing.

Chris smirked. “I fucking knew it. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.” He took Tom’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they turned away, Tom caught Jason’s eye, unable to conceal his disappointment.

They were halfway down the hall when Jason called out to them.

“I was there! I know he did something to you, Tom!”

They froze and turned back to him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, looking slightly defeated. After a moment, he walked up to them. 

“I was there, okay?”

“What are you saying?” Tom asked, keeping close to Chris.

Some of the others students came out of the double doors, chatting and laughing. He, Chris and Jason stood off to the side, waiting until the hallway cleared again.

Jason sighed. “I was here at school that day in the summer. I had just moved back and I was just…I don’t know. Walking around, trying to get used to the idea of coming here again. It all felt so different but the same and I couldn’t stand being at home all day, so I just came here.” He scratched at his cheek, searching for words. “I had just come inside from the lunch yard out back, thinking to myself how _alone_ the school felt. How empty. Anyway, I was at the end of the hall when Tom stumbled out of that classroom. Before I could ask if he was okay, he was out the other doors, clutching his stomach.”

Chris’s jaw clenched and Tom put his arm around his waist.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t know what happened. I crept up to the door and saw that it was open. Mr. Shaw was on his knees, back to me, scrubbing at something on the floor. It looked like blood. Not a lot of it, but it’s pretty unmistakable.” His eyes glanced over Tom’s forehead, now clear of the bruise and bandage everyone at school had seen. “That’s what it was, right? Eric told me his stupid joke about how Chris must have fu—um, how Chris was the one who did that to you. But it wasn’t Chris. It was Shaw who hit you, wasn’t it? He tried something else, didn’t he? Something more?”

“That’s enough,” Chris started, taking a step in Jason’s direction.

But Tom put a hand on his chest. “Wait, Chris. Please.” Swallowing tightly, he looked at Jason. “Yes. He did try something with me. I was sick from the spider bites. Remember?”

Jason nodded.

“I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Not then. We thought it was the flu. But I had to take my final exam. I had to do it and Chris was away. He had to leave. He didn’t know either.” Tom touched the back of his neck softly and Chris looked down at him, his brows drawn tight in regret. “Shaw cornered me against the window and tried…well, he just tried. I can remember how weak I was and how…how forceful he…” Tom stopped and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Chris turned to him. “Babe, don’t relive it.”

“But I stopped him,” he continued, looking at Chris. “I thought of you. And I stopped him.”

They stared at each other, something in Chris’s face giving him strength.

“So he hit you?” There was anger in Jason’s voice, a touch of how dangerous he might be if he let himself.

“No. I collapsed and hit my head on the desk. I didn’t even know I was bleeding. He actually tried to help me up but I left the room as fast as I could. I didn’t see you. I didn’t see anyone.”

They were quiet, the three of them standing in a crooked triangle of tension and barely subdued relief and disbelief.

“So that’s it?” Chris asked, breaking the silence. “You just wanted him to know you knew that about him? Why?”

“It’s not like that,” Jason said, looking down at the floor. “There’s no malicious intent. I just…I just wanted you to know. Because…”

They waited.

“Because he tried the same with me.”

Tom felt his stomach plummet to the floor. It was Chris who spoke first. “What?”

Jason leaned against the wall, voice monotone, resigned. “It happened a few months before my parents took me away from here. Shaw was my favorite teacher. I was a great student. Did extra credit, studied hard. He was kind to me in a way the other teachers weren’t. I mean, everyone was nice, but he listened and looked you in the eye and offered advice. It was such a relief from having to keep up this façade with my friends. Friends like Eric, who was already beginning to exhibit a tendency towards cruelty, unbridled sarcasm, general phobia of a lot of things." His eyes glanced at where Chris and Tom stood in stunned silence. "I was good at math. Still am. But I wanted him to be proud of me. I wanted that attention. I didn't have anything else. I didn't play sports or any instrument. Math was different. And he noticed, made an effort to award me with extra points. Honestly, I didn't realize anything bad about it until the small touches. Hand on my shoulder, at my elbow, my wrist."

Tom and Chris shared a private glance, Jason's story taking on a sickeningly familiar turn.

"How did he do it?" Tom whispered, his eyes narrowed with concern.

"I was stupid. He told me he had some old vinyl records in his garage that he'd been planning on pawning. He wanted to know if I would like to have a look before he did that, that I could have whatever I wanted. I remember Eric was with his girlfriend that Saturday or I'm sure I would have taken him with me. It doesn't matter. I went and while in his garage, he tried feeling me up. I was confused at first. I didn't know how it could be happening. But having the attention of a man like that was new and slightly thrilling, but I was mortified. I was absolutely mortified, Tom. Had I been attracted to him before? I can't say. I don't know! All I knew was that I couldn't do that with him there or ever. I felt sick to my stomach and I fought him off. We struggled for a bit and I felt his...his...excitement at the whole thing."

Jason was red and his eyes were moist, but there was a scowl on his face, dark brows drawn together in barely contained rage. “He brought a rag out from his back pocket and…”

“No,” Tom whispered, taking a step in his direction.

“Did he…,” Chris echoed.

Jason nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

There was something slightly offended in Jason’s face, an incredulity he had trouble concealing. He straightened from the wall. “Why didn’t you?”

Tom recoiled slightly and cast his gaze down, feeling chastised.

Jason nodded. “It’s humiliating, isn’t it? This burning knowledge that someone you were supposed to be able to trust, that your community provided faith in to take care of their children, this _authority_ figure would so blatantly dare to…well, you know exactly what I mean, Tom.”

“But he didn’t rape me, Jason.”

“He very well could have. You weren’t stupid like me.”

“Jason,” Chris started, but Jason cut him off with a venomous look.

“It happened, alright? My parents thought some kids beat me up when I came home limping and disoriented. I didn’t have the nerve to tell them the truth. How do you tell your father some man forced himself on you? I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have anything against Shaw anyway. He was careful. Used a condom, barely touched me except for where it counted.” He scratched his thumbnail on his chin angrily. “I started withdrawing from everyone, staying out late, my grades dropping. It took my dad some time to arrange everything at work and we left. Probably thought whoever had beaten me up was still giving me trouble. I didn’t bother to care. And now I’m back and I couldn’t stand the thought of him having done it again. Not when I saw Tom fall out of that room. Seeing the blood on the floor, him wiping at it, I thought….”

“No. He didn’t,” Tom said, and he felt the heavy guilt settle in his stomach at how relieved he felt, how close he’d been to what had happened to Jason.

Jason’s face softened and his voice fell. “I’m glad about that, Tom. You have no idea.”

Tom sidled up closer to Chris, running his hand down his forearm to link fingers.

Jason sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I have to go.” He made to move around them when Tom touched his arm.

“What now?”

Smirking, Jason shrugged. “That’s for me to worry about, Tom. You have Chris. I know he won’t leave you alone again. But me? I’d rather not say. I just hope, in the end, Shaw gets his.”

He and Chris stared at him, neither knowing what to say.

Jason smiled and tugged his hood over his head, putting his shades on. “See you tomorrow, Tom.” He nodded at Chris a bit stiffly and left, curls of cold wind swirling in before the door shut behind him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a LONG one. I wrote a lot over Thanksgiving break (which is partially the reason why I didn't update as soon, so sorry!) But here it is! Hope you enjoy! As always, kudos and comments are welcome :) Thank you so much for the support!

Chris eyed Tom on the drive home.

He was very quiet.

He hadn’t said a word since they left the school, after Jason had disappeared out the doors and into the cloudy afternoon. Tom, staring at the floor, mouth slightly open in muted horror, had followed Chris listlessly to his car, hand limp in his own.

“Tom?” he asked, turning into their neighborhood. But Tom simply shook his head and looked out the window. Chris gave him his space, but kept his hand loosely held in his. There was a sharp buzz of anxiety in Chris’s chest that tightened painfully at the thought of Tom withdrawing so far from him mentally. He rubbed at his knuckles, the feel of bony knobs and warm skin reassuring him that Tom was there with him and that he was okay and unharmed, physically at least.

They were supposed to do homework at Tom’s today, but Chris drove by the house and parked in front of his own driveway, relieved to see that his mom and dad still weren’t home, erratic hours just another advantage of having doctors for parents.

Highly aware of Tom and his loud silence beside him as he unlocked the door, Chris scrambled to figure out how to stop this, how to make his hurt go away. What Jason revealed to them at the school was shocking. And revolting. Chris would never have thought that was the truth that he’d been trying to tell Tom for weeks now. And judging by Tom’s continued reserve, the information was still not fully settled in his mind, either.

What had happened to Tom was horrifying enough; but Shaw had drugged Jason and…and _raped_ him. Chris was having a hard time stomaching the idea. He could only imagine what Tom was feeling, what must be going through his mind.

In his room, Chris let him walk in first. Tom, after placing his backpack by the door, went to sit on the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, during which Chris observed him from his position by the dresser where he emptied his pockets, he slowly removed his shoes and then climbed onto his bed. Letting his body relax in slow increments, he settled into the fetal position, facing the wall.

When his shoulders started to shake Chris burst into movement.

Stepping out of his sneakers, Chris crawled up behind Tom and spooned him into his embrace, holding him as he cried. Trembling, Tom made no noise aside from small gasps, but his hand snaked up to grasp at Chris, fingers tightening around his wrist. Minutes passed. Enough that Chris thought it best if he and Tom just napped, hoping that when they woke, they wouldn’t feel so alienated from the rest of the world with their newfound burden.

“I’m s-sorry, Chris. I’m sorry,” Tom whispered after a while, burying his face in one of the pillows, trying to stop the flow of tears.

“Don’t be, babe. Don’t be,” he said, pressing his lips to Tom’s hairline, the soft baby blond curls tickling his chin. “I’m here with you. Cry if you need to. I’ll hold you, okay?”

And Tom squeezed his eyes shut, his body shaking harder, the tears continuing to fall.

“I-I just think it’s hitting me for the first time. What he c-could have done. What he w-wanted to do.”

Chris slid his foot between Tom’s ankles, the way he stuttered when under duress making Chris want to burst with love. “I know, babe. Don’t think on it. He didn’t do it and you and I will never let him. I love you, Tom.” He squeezed him tight. “I love you.”

“Chris,” Tom sobbed quietly, fresh tears bursting from his eyes, dangling from his long lashes, spiked and heavy. He brought his knees closer to his chest, wanting to curl into himself.

“Jason…he went through that alone. Could you imagine how confused he must have been? How in pain and alone, having to go home after that and keep it all to himself?”

“Jason was in an entirely different situation, Tom,” he said, brushing away the tears falling over the bridge of Tom’s nose. “It did seem like he had no one to confide in. That in itself is a tremendous weight that can darken anyone’s life. He and Shaw appeared to be close, too. I think Shaw tried to do something similar with you. He was very friendly, tried to get close to you, liked to touch you, maybe testing the waters a bit. But you knew something was off.”

Tom turned in his arms, face inches from his own. His red cheeks smeared with tears made Chris’s heart clench. “And you knew. That day you came back for your bag. I don’t know what it was that alerted you, but…you saved me that day.” His breath hitched and Chris felt his chest tighten, his need to protect roaring high. “Who knows what would have happened had you not dragged me out of there?” Tom traced his eyebrow with a long finger. “My love.”

Chris gripped his head, forcing Tom to meet his eyes. “You would have stopped him. You stopped him later in the summer and you were beyond sick.”

“But I thought of you then, Christopher. I thought of you and it gave me strength. What would I have thought of that day when he was stepping so close and I felt the room shrinking and his eyes were getting all soft and his lips were parting and--.” Tom shuddered and wrapped himself around Chris, small tufts of breath heating his neck.

“Yourself. You would have thought of yourself and how no one deserves to touch you without your consent. And how your body is your own and your voice counts for something and when you say no, then it’s no.” He leaned his forehead against Tom’s, their sweet breaths mingling. “Don’t sell yourself short. You have a strength in you that showed itself the day you pushed him against the board, when you hit your head on the desk and started bleeding and just wanted to sleep, you picked yourself up and got out of there.” Tom’s tears started falling again, fat drops that rolled down his cheeks until Chris stopped them with his lips, laying small kisses on his face. “No one did that for you but _you_ , Tom. And I’m so proud of you.”

“Chris…,” Tom whispered, blue eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears. They embraced, Tom burying his face in Chris’s neck, his breath warm, long legs twining with his. And Chris vowed, his fingers disappearing into Tom’s curls, soothing him with low murmurs, that Shaw would pay for what he did.

**

October was nearly at its end. Chris had basketball tryouts first week of November. He would soon have practice every day after school, just following Tom’s drama class. They hadn’t figured out the car situation yet. Usually Tom rode home with Chris, but with Chris staying after school up to two hours for practice and games, Tom suggested he just start walking home again.

“I was doing it before I met you, Chris. It’s not a big deal,” he said, teeth chattering, his hands curled under his chin for warmth. They’d had to run to the car, hands gripped tightly, but still they slipped and slid over the slick surface of the pavement, laughter erupting from their chests and echoing in the quiet around them. They sat soaked, watching the cold rain fall steadily just outside the windshield in the school parking lot, waiting for the deluge to lighten.

“Babe, no. I don’t want you to do that. It’s already very cold and it’ll only get worse. And what if it rains like this again!”

Tom looked over at him. “You don’t want me walking home alone.”

Chris opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, not bothering to deny it.

“What’s he going to do? Abduct me from the side of the road?”

Chris’s jaw clenched. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. But….” He sighed. “Look, I know you’re worried--.”

“And you’re not? After what we just found out?”

It had been a week since Jason told them his secret. A week of silent car rides, during which Chris watched Tom, afraid he was withdrawing into his mind again. A week of Jason avoiding Tom during English and speaking with him only obligingly in Drama, where he would recite his lines and then vanish as soon as Mr. Everson announced they could go.

It was only today, the day before Halloween, that Tom smiled easily and openly, and his eyes were clear and not hazed over with whatever nightmare scenario was playing just behind forehead, the possibility of what could have been and not what had barely been avoided. Their run to the car in the rain had left him slightly out of breath and rosy cheeked and Chris decided he couldn’t be more in love with him.

“I know, darling,” Tom was saying, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I know. But what can we do? You need to stay for practice and I’ll be out at least a couple of hours before you’re through here.”

“I won’t play this season.”

Tom blinked. “It’s your last season, Chris.”

Chris shrugged.

“No. I can’t allow that. Absolutely not. You have to play!”

“Haven’t we seen Shaw walking to his car around the same time you get out of drama? You don’t think there will be times when you and him cross paths?”

Tom sat back, his brows scrunched. “You’re probably right.” He groaned, putting his face in his hands. “I hate this. I hate having to rethink everything just because of him. Why can’t I just walk home like any other normal person?”

Chris scooted closer, his long legs caught under the steering wheel. “Because you’re not a normal person. You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen—” Tom shook his head, voicing his disagreement—Chris took his hands. “You are. And he knows this, too. He wants you for himself.”

Tom looked up, blue eyes flashing, a rare display of anger. “He can’t have me.”

Chris chuckled and kissed his neck, “No. He never will. I promise you.”

Behind Tom, he spied a harried Mr. Shaw running down the front steps and toward his car, a stained briefcase in one hand and a sopping newspaper held above his head in the other, sorry protection against the rain. Before Tom could see him, Chris took his face in his hands and kissed his lips, losing himself in the small way Tom whimpered, the way his fingers shook as he pulled Chris closer, in the way Tom hugged him hard, whispering, “I love you, Chris,” into his ear. Chris, tracking Shaw’s progress across the lot until he finally drove away, looked down with a sigh of relief.

“I love you, too, Tom.”

**

“Chris, hello! Before Tom drags you away, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Tom’s mom corralled them by the door as soon as they stepped in, clothes and skin dripping with rain. She stepped up to Tom and smiled at him warmly, kissing his cheek. “Hi, sweetie.”

“I’d love to stay, thank you very much,” Chris said, pressing his ponytail into his shirt to prevent dripping.

“What are you making, mom?” Tom asked, unlacing his sneakers. Chris, spying him, bent down to do the same.

“Lasagna and salad.”

“Great, thanks. Let us know when it’s ready.” They left their shoes by the door and he led Chris upstairs to his room.

“I have to cut my hair,” Chris murmured to himself, pulling the tie from his ponytail and letting his damp hair hang free.

Tom turned to him, eyes slightly wide. “Cut it?”

Chris laughed. “You don’t want me to?”

Tom blushed and turned away. “It’s not that, it’s just that…I really like it long.” He busied himself with putting his backpack away and rearranging the non-existent clutter on his desk.

Chris walked up to him and hugged him from behind. “Tell me what you like about it.”

Tom let his head rest back against his shoulder, his fingers coming up to caress his forearm. “I…” He swallowed nervously. “I like that when you’re on top of me, strands of it come loose and brush my face, tickling my skin. So soft, like silk.” Chris kissed his temple and Tom shivered. “I like that when I’m about to fall through it all, through everything you make me feel, when I can’t know if I’m up or down, if you’re real and not smoke in my mind, I slide my fingers into your hair and grab it gently and hold on, because only then can I be sure I won’t slip away from you.”

“Mmm, babe,” Chris groaned, lips pressed into Tom’s jaw. “I’ll never cut it again.”

Tom laughed and turned to face him. “Cut it if you like. But…not too short? Please?” He saw the way Chris’s pupils expanded just before he leaned forward to catch Tom’s lips in a hard kiss.

“Deal,” he promised, voice a little deeper than usual.

“Tom! Chris! Dinner’s ready,” they heard Tom’s dad shout from the bottom of the stairs.

Both groaned in unison, but were hungry enough to separate and go downstairs.

Once seated, Chris and Tom were served plates of steamy lasagna, side salads and ice tea.

"There’s plenty more for seconds, if you’d like,” Tom’s mom said.

“This looks amazing,” Chris said, eyes widening at the food in front of him.

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Mrs. Hiddleston said, blushing happily, and Chris saw so much of Tom in her face, in the way her eyes cast downward when praised, that he reached for Tom’s hand under the table and squeezed gently.  

They started eating and Tom’s dad asked Chris about basketball.

Tom glanced at Chris, remembering his suggestion of not playing this year. “Tryouts are next week. Should be a piece of cake,” Chris said, gracefully shoveling more food into his mouth.

“What are your plans for Halloween?”

Chris shrugged and turned to Tom. “Not sure yet, I guess.”

“My company is having a Halloween party Friday night. I was thinking of taking your mother, Tom. You boys are welcome to come with us.”

“Oh--,” Chris started, but Tom interrupted him.

"Didn’t Danny say something about a party at Jaime’s house?”

Chris scrunched his brow and Tom kicked him under the table.

“Yes,” Chris piped in, smoothly disguising his surprise at being kicked. “Our friend Daniel told us yesterday at lunch. He’s on the team with me actually. He’s one of our wingmen.” He picked at his food. “It probably won’t start ‘til later in the night, though.” His leg inched closer to Tom’s.

Tom put down his glass of tea. “I was thinking you and I could hand out candies here at my house and then head over to Jaime’s later on.” He turned to his parents. “Would that be okay?”

“Sure, it’s fine by me,” his mom said, standing to bring more tea.

She asked Tom’s dad something about the party, but Tom only half heard because from beneath the table, he felt Chris hook his foot closer and Tom lost his breath for a moment, remembering all the times in the summer Chris would anchor his leg when they sat together during their breaks at school. He peeked at Chris and saw him smiling down into his salad. Maybe he was remembering too.

**

“So. A ‘party’, huh?”

Tom chuckled and half hid his face behind his pillow, eyes crinkled in mischief. “A white lie.”

Chris smiled wide and braced his head on his hand, loving when Tom felt comfortable enough to flirt like this. It was more frequent when they Skyped. “I’m surprised there actually isn’t a party. Even if there was and I wasn’t invited, Jaime would have told me.”

“Why wouldn’t you be invited?”

Chris shrugged. “Don’t know. I haven’t been nearly as social as I used to be.”

Tom looked down, picking at his nail. “Because of me?”

“Not at all. I just have been too busy with training and school and--.”

“Me.” He looked wounded.

“I chose you. I did. I chose you over the silly things I used to do to pass the time with my friends. I haven’t cut myself off entirely. I still hang out with them at school. But I much prefer being with you. Even if you do kick me undeservedly.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, face brightening. He tried to stop from laughing. “I didn’t plan on kicking you.”

“Oh, sure,” Chris said, adjusting the laptop on his chest. “You just, you know, bruised my leg. No biggie.”

Tom smiled playfully, his eyes downcast, blinking slowly before looking back up at Chris.  “Can’t I give you one tiny bruise, Christopher?”

Chris tried not to gulp, but Tom’s voice had dropped a notch and his face was so close to the camera, those white teeth and that perfect nose leaning in before he fell back against his pillow, a tiny huff of laughter escaping him. “You can do whatever you want to me, Thomas,” he finally managed, voice raspier than a second before.

“Mmm,” Tom purred. “I’ll remember that.”

“Let me see it,” Chris said, sitting up quickly and putting the laptop on the mattress next to him, flopping on his side to face the screen.

“See what?” Tom said, a bit nervously, the speakers making his voice sound smaller and much less rich than usual.

He tapped his shoulder with a finger. “Please?”

Understanding dawned on Tom’s face and he smiled. Pulling his shirt down slowly, he exposed the skin stretched over his collarbones, bruised dark purple. There were no more teeth marks.

Chris touched his screen, tracing his finger over the pixilated image. “I love it.”

“I do, too,” Tom whispered. He closed his eyes and lay back again, Chris barely catching the sigh that escaped his lips. Tom kept his fingers pressed to the mark, rubbing at it slowly. He bit his lip and looked at Chris.

Chris felt like his face was on fire. “Tom…” he said, throat dry all of a sudden.

“Yes, Chris?” Tom said, back arching a bit, fingering the bruise gently. He bit his lip again and Chris clenched his fists, his blood gathering deliciously in his lower abdomen.

Tom’s eyes shifted to the upper corner of his screen and he giggled, a delightful sound to Chris’s ears. “My battery is dying.”

“No, no, no! Charge it,” Chris said, leaning closer to his screen. Tom laughed, the long column of his neck stretched back. Chris swallowed hard, wanting to feel his skin move under the palm of his hand.

Chris groaned into his pillow. “My god, Tom…”

“I feel it, too, darling.” He looked off screen for a second. “It’s one in the morning. “See you tomorrow?” Tom asked, his voice sleepy.

“Yes, babe. Of course. Good night.”

Tom hugged his pillow, eyes closing happily. “’Nite, Christopher.”

**

Halloween dawned bright but bitterly cold. Tom waited for Chris at the curb in the morning, steam billowing from his nostrils so that he was sure he looked like some kind of malnourished and lanky bull. The weather didn’t prevent some students from showing up to school in full costume, as they were allowed to do, barring anything inappropriate or too revealing.

In the parking lot that Friday morning, Tom got out of the car and waited for Chris by the trunk, bundled up in a sweater, a dark brown scarf twisted around his neck and up to his nose. His hands were jammed into his pockets and when Chris came round the side, his face lit up with a smile. He grabbed Tom in a hug, rubbing his waist beneath his backpack.

“Did I tell you that you look adorable? Because you do,” he rumbled, and Tom shuffled closer, their breaths billowing white in the cold air.

“I look like Rudolph,” Tom said, face pressed against his neck.

Chris pulled back. “My nose,” he said, kissing the tip of it so that Tom suddenly didn't feel as cold anymore.

“Promise me you’ll play, Chris. Please promise me.”

Chris looked down at him with those half-moon shaped eyes that flicked down to Tom’s lips every few seconds. “I’m thinking about it still.”

Tom’s face fell.

“I don’t want you in any more danger than you have to be.”

“You not playing basketball is not going to prevent that. You have to play.”

“It means that much to you?”

“Yes, please. I—I want to see you play. You always looked so happy when I used to see you in practice. Like a golden sun.” He kissed his jaw. “My golden sun.”

Chris chuckled and hugged him close. “Okay, I’ll play.” Tom’s face brightened but Chris took his wrists in both hands. “On one condition.”

Tom waited.

“You’ll drive my car home after school and then come get me when I’m done.”

Tom laughed, calling him ridiculous.

“It would mean a lot to me if you would.”

Tom kissed him. “Fine. I will. Happy?”

“Yes.” He was about to kiss him again some kids in the row over started making fishy kissing sounds and laughing.

"Dumbasses," Chris said, taking Tom's hand as a fine mist started falling. They hurried across the parking lot and joined other students at the front doors, a funnel of teenagers clothed mostly in moist sweaters and cold jeans, others with various colored costumes.

Chris left him at English where a slick haired Jason tossed him a small smile from his corner seat. Tom nodded at him and then brought out the novel they were reading for class.

Jason made a quick exit again as soon as the bell rang and Tom began to suspect that he was avoiding him. Was he embarrassed by what had happened to him? But he was the one that insisted on telling Tom. Why the disappearing acts if he didn’t want anyone to know? Tom frowned. Had he felt shame because Chris had been there to hear? Jason had been adamant he wanted to tell only Tom.

“Where’d you go?”

Tom blinked and looked up. Chris was standing before him, amused.

“Oh,” Tom said. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

Chris took his hand and they started down the hall. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Just going over a thing in my head.” But then he stopped, eyes frozen on something ahead. Chris followed his gaze and saw Shaw outside his door, watching Tom. Biting back a curse, Chris took a step and put himself in front of Tom. Shaw finally noticed Chris and met his eyes briefly before beginning to turn away. But then _he_ froze, eyes widening. Tom held his breath as Jason appeared and came around to stand by Chris, both blocking Shaw’s view of Tom.

A strained moment passed and then Shaw made a hasty retreat into his classroom. It seemed like the hall brightened considerably in Tom’s mind.

Chris, red-faced and livid, took Tom’s hand. “Thank you,” he said to Jason, but Jason was already turning away.

“Jason, wait—,” Tom said, but he had already been swallowed up by the crowd.

**

“What is with you?” Tom asked as soon as he had a moment alone with Jason. They were backstage organizing the props. Mr. Everson had declared their scenes well-developed and now encouraged them to practice on their own during and outside of class. They could always bring any questions or concerns to him, if needed. But for the last seven days, Jason had made himself scarce. Albeit, Tom hadn’t been the most present either, but this couldn’t continue. Tom was uncomfortable with conflict, especially if he had the ability to do something about it.

Jason tossed him a half-glance. “What do you mean?”

Tom checked that they wouldn’t be overhead. “You’ve been acting strangely since you told us about Shaw.”

Jason sighed and let the tangled string of fake leaves he was holding fall back into the box they were organizing. “What else can possibly be said, Tom.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry about what happened to you,” Tom murmured, realizing quite suddenly that maybe Jason was right. “I don’t think it ever really occurred to me that Shaw might have gone that far before. That he had been intent on doing the same to me. Chris told me—.”

“Chris loves you. I get that. But I really didn’t want him to know. My telling you was supposed to be between us only. It’s hard enough having to look my dad in the eye every day and wish I didn’t have this fucking stain in my blood that I have to keep hidden from him and my mother. But Chris had to burst into class that day and drag me into the—.”

His voice was rising. Tom quickly lay a hand on his arm and tried to placate him, casting a quick look around to see if anyone was nearby. No one was. “Okay, okay, I understand—.”

Jason shook him off. “No, you don’t understand, Tom. Chris is going to do whatever he can to protect you and make sure you never have to face what I did. I’m sorry if I sound petty about this, but I had no one. None of my friends would have understood. Eric was already starting to show a tendency for bigotry. To this day he has no idea that I’m Bi—.” He cut off, pulse jumping at the corner of his jaw. “I mean. I—I think I am. I really like girls. But there are some things about men that I…that I really like too,” he ended, voice soft.

Tom smiled kindly, hip leaning up against their work table. “Chris is Bi, too. His explanation was very similar to yours, actually.” He sighed. “I know how confusing it all can be, especially considering you like both genders.”

“It’s not even that I like both genders. It’s about feeling accepted. Which I don’t. I haven’t been honest with Eric about any of it. He and I have been friends for so many years and part of me believes that he will understand and not judge me for it. But then—but then I listen to him speak sometimes. I listen to his vitriol and I convince myself he won’t understand. That he’ll turn right around and make fun of me like he does everyone else. Like he did with you at that party. And a part of me doesn’t care because I like to tell myself that I don’t need anyone’s permission. But I have moments of great insecurity.”

A moment passed and then Tom said, “Why are you friends with him?”

Jason shrugged. “Why is anyone friends with anyone? It’s either because they are a part of your heart, always there for you, kind to you and others. Or maybe it’s just a force of habit.” He reached into the box again and started de-tangling the faux leaves.

Tom reached in to help. “I never thought of it that way.”

They fell silent and passed the rest of class in a comfortable quiet, working side by side. When they heard Everson’s call from the front stage to start clean-up, Tom wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up the box of neatly stacked material. Jason’s hand shot out and took hold of his elbow.

Tom shrank back, struggling with the memory of someone else doing that exact thing.

“I can’t stand the thought of him doing something to you, Tom. I really can’t. As the strongest, Chris has the best chance of protecting you. But I will be there for you, too. However I can.”

Tom stiffened slightly, ears caught somewhere in the middle of what Jason had just said. “Chris is more than just muscle, Jason. His heart is—.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me to say.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Jason blinked. “Nowhere. I just wanted you to know that everyone has their own strengths. And I’m glad Chris has his own special kind, in case we should ever need it. And while I may not have his inherent power, I will be there for you. Okay?”

Tom nodded, lips pursing in thought. “Thank you, Jason. But I really hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“So do I.” Jason smiled tightly and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze before disappearing behind the long black velvet stage drapes.

**

The doorbell rang and Chris jumped up from the couch. He wore a patch over one eye, a big black hat, and a scarf belong to Tom’s mom tied around his waist, his idea of a pirate’s costume.

“You’re missing so many components,” Tom had said earlier in his room, laughing. “A parrot. A golden hoop through your ear, a wooden leg.”

“A sword,” Chris said, continuing the list. “A ship. Maybe some treasure.” He hooked Tom closer with his arm. “Oh, wait. I have you right here.”

“Flatterer,” Tom said, cinching the scarf tighter.

“Trick or treat!”

Tom, costume-less, handed a few pieces of candy to the children and then closed the door to the brisk evening air. His parents had left for their party an hour before and he and Chris had dutifully passed out candy since then. They were nearly out of treats and it wasn’t even nine o’clock.

The lights were all off inside the house. They sat on the sofa chair next to the front window, the almost empty bucket of candy between them. Light from the bulbs outside the front door poured in and cast their skin in a dim yellow.

“What do we do once it’s gone?” Chris whispered.

Tom smiled. “I want some alone time with you.”

“We’ve been alone this entire time.”

Tom pouted. “You don’t want to be _alone_ with me?”

The doorbell rang and Chris launched out of his seat faster than Tom had ever seen him move.

Unwrapping a watermelon Jolly Rancher, he heard him at the door.

“Here you go, kids. You’re the lucky ones that get all that’s left. Take all of it!” A pouring sound came next and Tom laughed quietly. “Happy Halloween! Be safe!”

Suddenly thrown into darkness as Chris flicked the front light off, Tom felt Chris take his hand and pulled him to his feet.

Minutes later, in the calm of his room, Tom clasped Chris to him, mouths seeking, fingers clawing at shirts until they were both bare-chested, skimming over tight skin.

A rumbling sound came from Chris’s chest and he pulled back, Tom’s Jolly Rancher clasped between his front teeth. “I thought you tasted sweeter than usual.”

Tom’s eyes widened and he gasped with longing when Chris crunched the candy into crumbs.  Desperate, he reached up for _more_ , the pieces of candy passing easily between their tongues. They tumbled to the bed, more frantic in their pawing, Chris at his neck, his chest, his hips, and back to his neck. Tom, mouth sticky with sugar, licked his lips and watched Chris leave tiny bows of kisses along his skin.

Tom was half-hard and Chris stared at the bulge in his jeans. In the blink of an eye Chris had himself pressed along Tom’s body, his hard-on nudged next to Tom’s own.

“I just need to feel you,” Chris gasped, mouth by Tom’s ear.

“Yes, darling. Anything.”

Chris moved his hips, his jeans creating a friction that had Tom arching with tiny moans. With every sound Tom made, Chris pressed down harder until they were both breathless. Their cocks were fully hard and when Chris reached down to take Tom’s dick in hand, his fingers strong through the fabric separating them, he held Tom still as he brushed their bulges against each other. Back and forth, back and forth, Tom rocked against the mattress with the movement, fingers grasping at Chris’s belt loops, wanting him closer, closer, closer.

“Kiss,” Tom managed between groans and Chris bent down to catch his lips, biting gently.

Stilling his hips, he came back to the bruise at Tom’s collarbone, paying extra attention to it.

“Chris…I—um.”

Chris was laving at his skin, opening his lips to suck.

“Baby, I think—“

Breath so hot and _claiming_ —

Taking a handful of blond hair in one hand, Tom pulled, eyes widening in wonder when Chris groaned and let his head be pulled back. His fingers flexed, loving that reaction very much.

“Wait, please…”

Chris, realizing his mistake, quickly lifted himself off Tom, scrambling to the side. “I’m sorry. Tom, I’m sorry. I didn’t—.”

“Shh, baby. It’s okay.” Tom sat up beside him, taking his hand. “I didn’t ask you to stop.”

Chris was very still, eyes narrowed with worry.

“It’s just that I think I might be shirtless for the play and it would be a bit untoward to have hickeys—.”

“Oh,” Chris murmured, eyes downcast. “You’re right.”

“But,” Tom jumped in, hating how sad Chris looked. “But, I was thinking…and I know you are so careful about where you leave hickeys on me and as soon as this play is over I want one on my neck right away—.”

Chris smiled, eyes following Tom’s facial movements.

 “And please tell me if it’s absolutely stupid, but I was thinking you could…mark me…somewhere else.” He swallowed. “I’ve thought of it for a while now, this other spot. And I…I would really like you to.”

Blue eyes rose slowly to meet his. A space of silence and then one raspy word: “Where?”

Tom smiled wide and tugged at Chris. “I’ll show you. Come here.”

He lay back down and guided Chris’s hands to his belt buckle. “Off.”

Not quite able to disguise the tremble in his hands, Chris swallowed and undid the belt and clasp of Tom’s jeans. He hesitated.

“Go on. It’s okay.”

Off his jeans went, Chris dropping them to the floor.

“These next,” Tom said, fingering the edge of his boxers.

Chris looked up. Tom nodded, smiling.

Once bare, Chris stared at his cock, heavy against his pelvis. He skimmed his fingers through the dark shadow of hair at its base and ran them along the veined skin of his shaft to hover over the head.

“Here,” Tom whispered, trying in vain to ignore Chris’s straying hand. His own hand moved low to indicate his inner thigh. “Right here.”

And Chris licked his lips, laying down quickly, Tom’s leg secured under his arm and along his body.

"Go on...please." Panting, he looked down at Chris hovering over his lower body. They were both hard, that much Tom knew, Chris’s own arousal hidden from him for the moment. But Tom wanted to try this, wanted to see what it would feel like. Because while they would need to be more careful about the hickeys until the play was over, he didn’t want Chris to stop marking him. The fact that Chris’s love bites were just beneath the fabric of his shirts as they walked together at school, knowing that of all the people Chris could easily be with, he had chosen Tom and marked him as his. It was a self-defining moment for Tom, this realization that claiming had so little to do with possession and so much to do with allowing another person to keep you as theirs.

Chris's big hand held his leg open while the other caressed the opposite leg, smoothing over the meat of his thigh and it seemed like heat radiated off his skin, warming his face, drawing him in. His breath ghosted over soft pale flesh to the hipbone jutting up invitingly. His gaze strayed lower, to the cleft of his buttocks, just beneath his perineum, such smooth skin. It took every ounce of his will not to bury his face there, not to spread him open and—

"Are you sure?" he said, blinking to clear the haze in his head.

Tom swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Chris. Please."

Chris put his free arm across Tom's belly to hold him down, reaching to secure Tom's wrist in his hand. Then he lowered his head, kissing the skin of Tom's thigh lovingly.

Tom breathed out shakily and put his head back down as Chris opened his mouth and, with no warning, bit hard.

Tom arched off the bed, a strangled cry in his throat, but Chris pushed him back down, fingers tightening around his wrist.

He moaned, voice muffled, as Tom continued to writhe beneath him. He loosened his jaw and started to suck at the skin, wanting the mark to last. Salt and something like the flavor of ice burst over his tongue as he worked to pull the blood to the surface. Tom’s free hand found his hair, carding through it, holding him to his thigh. He sighed beautifully, gasping when Chris bit again and again, teeth sinking into the long, lean muscle.

“Yes…Chris. That feels…wonderful.”

Lifting his eyes, Chris eyed the way Tom’s cock, engorged, jumped with every twitch Tom made. Taking it in hand, he starting pumping, keeping his fist loose so as not to hurt Tom with their lack of lubricant. But that seemed to be enough of a stimulant for Tom, who whined and tightened his fingers in Chris’s hair. He sucked harder, his tongue flashing out to soothe the skin.

Tom lifted his head, neck straining to see Chris. “Bite. Chris, please bite.”

And so he bit, jaws clamping down, mesmerized when Tom fell back to the bed, coming hard with a cry. His cock pulsed and pulsed, warm strings of white shooting out. Rolling his thumb over the head, Chris coaxed out every last drop until Tom was shivering and his fingers pushed weakly against Chris.

Kissing the bruise, he got up and gathered Tom close, his body limp-limbed and heavy.

“You still with me?” Chris whispered.

Tom mumbled something, snuggling as close as he could get. His hands were fumbling for Chris’s jeans.

“Babe, you don’t—.”

“Hush now,” Tom murmured, pushing his jeans and boxers down past his hips. Tugging until Chris was lying on him again, Tom opened his legs so that he was cradled in the apex of his thighs, one freshly bruised and smarting.

“Move,” he whispered, running his hands over Chris’s face and behind his neck.

Like before, Chris began rocking against Tom, who was still half-hard despite his own orgasm.

“Fuck, Tom,” he groaned, when Tom let his blunt nails scratch lightly along his neck. Trailing them down to his chest, Tom smiled, basking in the affect he had on Chris, the way he was able to make him feel, what he was reduced to.

“Can I try something?” he whispered, body shaking with restraint.

Tom nodded and then Chris was flipping them so fast that Tom clawed at his chest for balance.

“Whoa,” Tom said, adjusting himself over Chris so that he straddled his hips.

“Like this,” Chris said, gathering the come from Tom’s chest and then taking his hand and wrapping it around both their dicks. His other hand found Tom’s hip and he started pushing and pulling gently, encouraging him to move.

Gasping, Tom stared down at where their bodies touched and then cast wide eyes at Chris, amazement plainly evident on his face.

“Hold your fingers a little tighter, babe. Like a circle. Move your dick over mine. Stroke them together…oh, yes,” he groaned, falling back, eyes closed tightly as Tom followed his instructions. “Just like that. _Fuck_ , Tom.”

His grip was slippery, but Tom kept his fist tight, rolling his hips and gliding his cock over the thick underside of the other’s, the large vein pulsing. Using his thumb, he swirled the heads together and Chris choked out a curse, head pressed back into the mattress. His neck was red and veins stood out with every breath he took.

Tom was completely hard again and very, _very_ sensitive, but he kept thrusting, adoring how Chris had his hands clenched in the blanket, his stomach muscles rippling with the effort to keep from lifting his hips. His chest rose and fell and Tom couldn’t help but touch him there, lovingly. Their testicles rolled against each other and Tom ground down harder to feel Chris seize up with the shock of it.

"Fucking hell, Tom."

Tom smiled wide at that, as a sweet musk rose to his nostrils, their movements making the air heady and warm. He moaned, thrusting harder.

“Chris…oh god.”

“Faster. Tom, faster.”

Tom pumped harder, moving his closed fist up and down at the same time. Chris was so hard, on the verge of bursting. He was about to come too, the slight pain of sensitivity not stopping him from tightening his thighs around Chris, rubbing fast.

Chris arched as he came, practically lifting Tom a foot in the air. His hands found Tom’s hips and he gripped him hard, moving him still, more, more.

Tom’s hand fisted over their dicks, unable to stop, solid fluid motions that had him coming soon after. He cried out softly as his second orgasm hit him, a thin stream of come landing over his fingers.

Shaking, shaking, his vision inky and voice shot, Tom’s arms gave out and he collapsed forward, gasping over Chris’s chest, lightheaded.

“Here you are, baby,” Chris said, wrapping his arms around Tom and guiding him to lie on the bed. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“Oh, Chris,” Tom mumbled, eyes closing despite his best efforts to stay awake. “That was…thank you, Chris.”

Chris chuckled, kissing his closed eyelids. Tom felt the bed dip as Chris moved away. He heard him leave the room and return a few minutes later with a damp cloth, which he used to clean them up. He wadded it up afterward and tossed it across the room, a clean shot into the trashcan by the door.

“Show off,” Tom whispered, carding his fingers through Chris’s hair.

“What time until your parents get back?”

“Don’t know. Let’s just lie here for a while. I can’t keep my eyes open.”

And so they did, both relieved Chris had walked to his house and kept his car at home, not wanting his car to be the reason his parents knocked on his door. Tom vaguely wondered if his parents would come to his room to check if he was home, but he’d told them he was going to text them when he was on his way, so he hoped, in that dim wasteland just before sleep, that they wouldn’t.

“Did you lock the door?”

“I did.”

Tom relaxed again. “Good. Okay bye,” he murmured, finally succumbing to the fatigue pulling at his mind.

Chris laughed quietly and nuzzled his temple, cuddling close to Tom, whose breaths were already slow and deep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to wish everyone a very happy holiday season <3 Thank you for your patience. Hope you enjoy the new chapter.

Basketball tryouts were after school on Thursday of the following week. On Monday, Chris was readying his sports bag with special basketball shoes—“It’s all about the grip”—and despite his cool façade, Tom got the impression that Chris was nervous. A good thing, Tom thought. It showed he cared.

“I get sweaty,” was all he said to Tom, who watched with amusement from his spot on the floor as Chris tossed in extra shorts and shirts.

He pointed to the shoes. “Is that what makes that squeaky sound when you run?”

Chris nodded, winking at him.

After their night together on Halloween, Chris had woken up in a panic, not knowing what time it was or if Tom’s parents were back. The left side of his face was hot from where it had been pressed to Tom’s back. Tom had been curled up on his stomach but stirred when Chris bounced off the bed to reach his phone.

“So…sticky,” he whispered, half asleep. His hand skimmed down his chest where their cum had dried, despite Chris’s best attempt to clean them up.

Chris smiled and checked the time. A little past midnight. The driveway was clear when he looked out the window.

“Not back yet.” He turned to Tom and eyed his figure on the bed. From where he stood he could see the dip of his spine, plump buttocks and the darker shadow just between his legs. Chris swallowed and curled his fingers into a fist.

Tom sat up and even in the near darkness, Chris could tell he was blushing. With the heat of the moment gone, Tom’s shyness was coming back full force. He sat at the edge of the bed and tucked his arms between his legs, hiding himself from Chris.

“I want to shower.”

Chris followed him with his eyes as Tom slipped from the room, his long body pale in the semi-darkness.

Tom stood under the spray of water and looked at his leg, fingering the bruise and bite marks still visible on his inner thigh. The bruise gave a twinge and he closed his eyes briefly.

They took quick turns and then both dressed in warm sweaters and jeans before walking to Chris’s house. They took his car downtown, looking for a pizza place that was still open. Parking in one of the back lots, the cold air misted their breath when Chris took his hand and they walked to the front entrance.

As Tom bit a slice of pepperoni pizza, he looked up to Chris staring at him, the adoration in his eyes enough to stop Tom mid-chew. And then Chris smiled widely and looked down at the table. “Sorry,” he said, a bit embarrassed.

Later, after holding hands and giggling in a corner booth, pizza grease on their lips, music and dim lighting protecting them from the world, they slipped back into the cold night and Chris parked near the pier, where he tasted the three freckle constellation on Tom’s neck, never biting or sucking, just kissing, his breath warm and feather soft, this perhaps making Tom shake all the harder.

Zipping up his bag, Chris turned to Tom. He didn’t often get the chance to see him in his room at this early hour and he wanted to memorize the way the light fell on his skin from this angle.

Tom had text him just after his alarm went off that he would meet him at his house. Surprised and a bit worried about the change, Chris opened the door for him twenty minutes later.

“Are you okay?”

Tom smiled and pushed past him into the house. “Of course.”

Now, he sat and watched Chris move about his room, loving the way he murmured to himself things he might have forgotten or how he exclaimed happily when he found them hidden under a pile of clothes or where they’d fallen behind his desk.

He grimaced in apology to Tom. “I really should clean up in here.”

Tom touched his ankle softly as he passed and smiled at Chris, who smashed a woven beanie onto his head and grabbed his bags. He didn’t tell him that he’d had another dream where he’d been immobilized by fear. Another dream that had him waking in sheer panic, choking on his own frenzied breaths, casting frantic eyes around his room, needing Shaw not to be there, wanting Chris so badly. He didn’t tell him. He didn’t want to worry about him, especially during this important week.

Math was uncomfortable but this wasn’t anything new. After last week’s rather unexpected stare down between Jason, Chris and Mr. Shaw, Tom was incredulous that Mr. Shaw was still even _trying._ Tom didn’t understand. Why this fixation? Why not have sex with people his own age, men or women or whomever, Tom didn’t care. As long as it drew Shaw’s attention away from him.

But he felt guilty immediately after thinking that. He wouldn’t want to wish his misfortune on anybody else. Even if someone consented to sleeping with Mr. Shaw, it still gave Tom the creeps. Regardless, what Shaw did to Jason and came very close to doing to Tom was illegal and basely incorrigible and it wasn’t right that he was free to come and go as he wished.

Someone came to stand in front of his desk. From the hideous gray trouser legs, Tom realized it was Shaw. He drew his feet toward himself and tucked them under his seat, picking at his nail like he didn’t care.

“Here you go,” Shaw said in a falsely cheerful voice, putting on a front of normality for the other students. In his hand was Tom’s assignment from the week before, graded in green ink. Tom took it without looking up and Mr. Shaw hesitated. “Did you have a nice weekend, Tom?”

Tom closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose, deciding whether counting to ten would be enough. “Fine,” he finally managed, his eyes locked onto the splotches of grime in the grooves of the wall next to him.

Mr. Shaw said nothing and walked away to hand back the rest of the papers.

“Jesus, dude. Why are you so mean to Mr. Shaw?”

Tom whipped his head around and saw the guy in the seat across the aisle was looking at him.

“I mean, what did he ever do to you?”

Tom had no words. He literally could not speak, outrage and shame silencing him. His blood seemed laden with lead so that his body felt too heavy to move. Everything that could vindicate him for his treatment of Shaw was bunched together in his throat, stuck and useless to him in that moment, judged by this boy who knew nothing about anything. Knew nothing of the anxiety that tore him from the grip of sleep, nothing about the way Shaw cornered and assaulted him in this very classroom, how Tom’s eyes strayed every day to that spot on the floor that Shaw must have scrubbed at to remove his blood stain. He couldn’t know about the gazes and the touching and the way he forced his way against Tom’s body or how he stood outside his bedroom window or the way he teased Tom about Chris—.

Speechless, he stared at the guy as he turned away without waiting for a reply, a slightly disgusted look on his face. Tom was still gaping when the bell rang moments later, his face on fire.

Chris stuck his head in the room when Tom didn’t immediately walk out, as usual. His first glance was for Shaw, locating him immediately as he shuffled behind his desk, trying not to show interest in what was going on.

Chris bent over Tom’s desk, blocking Shaw’s view of him.

“What is it?” he whispered, fingers tucking a curl behind Tom’s ear.

Tom blinked, swallowing past his humiliation, only just realizing everyone had left. He couldn’t meet Chris’s eyes. He couldn’t look up at all.

“It’s ok,” he whispered, unsure what he was even referencing.

From the front of the room, a chair scraped back. “Is everything alr—,” Shaw started but Chris turned fast and stood to his full height, facing him. Whatever Shaw saw made him stop in his tracks.

Chris took Tom’s hand. “Let’s go.”

He pulled him from the room and guided him to their History class. Sitting in the back, Chris asked him what happened. Rubbing his face, Tom explained about what the boy had said. He startled when he saw Chris’s face turn dark.

“Who was it?”

“Nobody. It’s done with. Just forget it.” He turned to the front of the class as their teacher started his lecture, but Chris didn’t take his gaze from him. Tom glanced at him and kept taking notes, smiling faintly as he whispered without really meaning it, “ _Stop._ ”

Chris reached over and scribbled something in the corner of his paper: _I love you._

Tom smiled and looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. _I love you too_ , he mouthed.

During lunch, Chris kept tossing him looks, his eyes narrowed but just Tom shrugged, head resting on his hand, chewing on a grape. “I’m not going to tell you who it was, so you can just stop that, Christopher.” When Chris nudged his foot and winked at him, Tom sighed. “I don’t even know his name. It’s not important to me anymore. Your charms won’t work.”

Chris edged closer, his bulk hiding the way his hand inched around Tom’s waist, fingers curling under his T-shirt, so smooth on his bare skin. “Won’t they?” he whispered.

Tom’s breath caught and he gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. “No?”

Chris chuckled and moved away, leaving Tom huffing quietly.

In Drama, something about Jason was off. He kept jangling his foot where he and Tom sat in the corner of the auditorium. He picked at his thumbnail absentmindedly, his free hand curled over his lap.

They were watching two of their classmates act out a scene on the main stage. It wasn’t anything formal, but he and Jason had taken a break from their own dialogue to watch.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Jason barely spared him a glance. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t stopped fidgeting for the past twelve minutes.”

His foot immediately stilled. They were quiet and then Jason looked down.

“Do you think Shaw will be here? On opening night?”

Tom frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. If anything, he was more worried about Chris being in the audience, never having known about his presence before in the gaping mouth that was a darkened and hushed auditorium. With him sitting out there somewhere, watching him, Tom would need to work at calming his nerves more than usual.

“I doubt it,” he said, trying to convince himself as much as Jason. “Why would he be? It’s hardly up his alley.”

Jason turned to him. “Because we’re in it.”

They stared at each other. On a whim, Tom inched his hand over the seat rests and touched his arm softly. “It’s going to be okay, Jason.”

Reaching to grip his hand before Tom pulled away, Jason squeezed briefly. “I hope so, Tommy.”

He blinked. The nickname surprised him, but he didn’t say anything.

Jason shrugged and let go. “You’re probably right. It was a stupid question.” He stood abruptly and sauntered up the side stairs, slipping behind the heavy black drapes. 

**

“Truth.”

Chris smiled at Tom’s face lit up on his screen. He was starting to get giggly, a sure indicator that he was beyond tired.

They’d been playing this game for nearly an hour now, each truth or daring each other something a little braver than the one before. Chris found out that Tom’s favorite painting was _The Death of Marat by_ Jacques-Louis David—“There’s just something so incredibly sad about the way he’s died, so alone in his bath unable to move, that I feel like crying whenever I see it”—and Chris had displayed great humility when Tom dared him to go downstairs and strike up a conversation with his mom, making sure to mention pineapples six times. Taking his laptop with him so Tom could witness, he’d completed his dare to his mom’s great confusion, especially after Tom let out a chortle of stifled laughter. He made a quick exit, telling her goodnight and sprinting up the stairs. “You’re going to pay for that, Hiddleston. You swore you’d be quiet!”

He fell to his bed, laughing as Tom came back on the screen, nearly breathless. “Pineapples!” More laughter.

“Truth, huh?” He made a face that conveyed deep thought and Tom giggled again, hiding his face in his pillow.

“Tell me…oh, but that’s terrible. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.” And he truly felt that way. It didn’t seem right to ask Tom such a thing…but oh he was curious. They’d already touched on the subject of sex, both admitting to having watched porn in the past. But this seemed different and Chris didn’t want to cross a line.

Tom perked up higher in the screen, his eyes puffy from sleepiness. “No. What is it?”

“It’s nothing. It’s late. Why don’t we—.”

“Christopher.”

He sighed. “It’s personal. Maybe too personal.”

Tom’s hand came up to press against his side of the screen. “I trust you. I would tell you anything.”

Chris felt his face flush and hoped Tom couldn’t see it. “Well. Um. I was just wondering…when the last time was that you…masturbated.” What was it about that word that elicited feelings of shame and guilt?

He didn’t look, couldn’t know what Tom’s reaction was. A terse moment passed. He groaned into his pillow. “Dammit. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

He heard his name whispered.

Tom was closer to the camera than before, his face looming up on his screen, the blue of his eyes vivid enough that Chris saw the specks of brown bunched near his pupils. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed the camera before backing away, folding his pillow under him.

“Was that for me?”

Tom nodded. “Mmm hmm.” He paused. “I’ll tell if you tell.”

Chris sat up. “Okay.”

Tom smiled and it was one of his personal smiles, reserved only for Chris. A smile that grew so slowly from the sides, eyes downcast, demure even, a smile so full of his light that it always surprised Chris, how privileged he was to have Tom. “In the shower after school, after you dropped me off.” And Tom remembered it so vividly, the steam, the water rushing down the plain of his back, giving him chills like only a kiss from Chris could do, pumping his hand, gripping the tile, coming hard, deep breaths, collapsing against the wall.

Chris swallowed. He wanted to know all the details: what was it that lead him to do it, had he thought of Chris or was it something he’d seen on the Internet, what was it that finally got him off?

Tom was looking at him, a question in his eyes. Chris cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I was…”

“Picturing it?” That smile again.

“Yes.”

Tom could see in the relief and pure want clouding Chris’s eyes that he’d very much like to see that in person. He squirmed at the thought. In a good way. Touching his hair briefly, he said, “What about you.”

Chris blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Well. Last time I did that was about seven months ago.”

Tom’s eyes widened and Chris couldn’t hold in his laughter. “I’m sorry! Not true. Not true. Sorry.”

“Apologizing is my thing. Jerk.”

“Well. Last time was this morning. I woke up with a bit of a problem.”

Tom nodded in a way that meant it happened to him too. "So you handled it."

"I handled it."

Tom bit his lip. "I think I want to see that."

Had he heard right? "You do?"

Tom blinked sleepily, head resting so snugly into his pillow. He stifled a yawn. "Mm, yes. But I just want to watch. Just watch what you do, see what makes you feel good. I remember what you told me that night you came running to my house, when you asked me if I’d ever come before. I think it about sometimes…all the time.” He laughed quietly and scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Oh, Chris, I'm sorry, but I can't keep my eyes open."

Chris stared at the screen, riveted, Tom’s sleepy voice not doing anything to help the arousal peaked by what he was just talking about.

He swallowed. “Go to sleep, babe. And good night.” He touched the screen as if that would even compare to the feel of Tom under his hands “I can’t wait to see you.”

Tom sighed with a little smile. “You’re seeing me now.”

And then his eyes closed, lips parting delicately as sleep took him. Chris watched the screen, knowing Tom’s computer would eventually die and he would wake up hours from now, sending a hurried message to Chris, apologizing. He typed out _I love you_ in the chat box so that Tom wouldn’t think he signed off upset. 

**

_I’M SO SORRY._

Just after his alarm went off, Chris was stumbling back into his room, not fully awake when his phone beeped. He checked the message from Tom and smiled.

_I’m not. You were adorable._

_Oh god how long were you watching me?_

_Calm down. Like a half hour._

_WHAT._

_I’m kidding! Only a few moments. I went to sleep too. Get my message?_

_I did. I love you more._

_:-*_

_Flatterer. Come get me._

He showered quickly and got dressed, grabbing an apple before leaving his house. He ate it in four huge bites, tossing the core into an empty soda cup.

Tom, clad in dark jeans, a red sweater and brown scarf wrapped tight around his throat, flew down the drive and plopped into the passenger seat, reaching over to circle his arms around Chris.

“I’m horrible.”

Chris nodded mock seriously. “You are. I can’t forgive you.”

Tom’s face fell and his eyes dropped to his lap. Chris hugged him tighter around the waist.

“Don’t ever look at me like that again, you silly puppy.”

“You’re a puppy.”

He caught his mouth in a kiss and Tom slid his hand behind his neck, finger brushing up into his hair. It gave Chris the shivers.

Tom moaned and pulled away. “You taste sweet. Like apples.” His eyes swept over his face. “Can I keep you?”

Chris chuckled. “Yes. You can.”

A throat cleared loudly outside. “Don’t forget to put your seat belt on, Tom.”

They jumped apart, realizing that Tom never shut the car door, that he was practically draped over Chris.

Tom’s dad was walking over to his car.

“O-okay, I will,” Tom called out through the open door before closing it. His face was beet red.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

“Whoops,” Chris said, putting his car in gear.

**

The bruise was still dark. It still ached; when Tom sat down, when he got up from bed every morning, when he brushed his fingers over it at night, pressing down, wanting it to stay fresh.

Just the thought of Chris scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin, biting down, sucking to mark… Tom would get hard almost immediately. Which is why he didn’t think about it, except in private. In the shower, angling his leg out to see better, rivulets of water streaking down his thigh. In bed after waking, snug in his cocoon of warmth, the air in his room cold and unwelcoming. He began to need to change his sheets more often.

He felt it twinge during his classes, when he crossed his legs at lunch, even when Chris looked at him over the table, almost like a pulse of recognition. Tom would press his legs together, sitting quietly.

Chris waved as he drove away after dropping Tom off at home. They had another skype chat planned before bed and Tom wanted to have most of his essay for English written before then.

That night, after refusing to lie down during their chat, lest he fall asleep again, they logged off with screen touches and whispered I love you’s. Tom fell into sleep almost immediately, echoes of that lovely voice bouncing around in his head.

“Chris…Chris, yes.”

Chris pressed him into the mattress, his weight smothering Tom deliciously, teeth skimming up his neck, breath hot behind his ear. He wound his hand into Tom’s hair, pulling until the sensitive skin of his throat was exposed to him. Tom’s bare legs came up to wrap around his hips and he arched when Chris nudged at his entrance. “Yes, please yes…I want you to.”

Chris moaned and the sound sent chills up Tom’s spine, curling like a ribbon around his ribs.

But when Chris spoke, it wasn’t his voice at all. “You’re finally mine, Tom.”

His eyes snapped open in fear. Where before, it was unmistakably Chris above him, now the weight and size and scent of the body were all wrong. Where Chris was all long hard lines, pure warmth with smooth skin that smelled of the sun, this body was soft and dense, with clammy skin and body hair that chafed and seemed to reach for him, lit with static.

His legs fell away and he began to pound against that chest slick with cold sweat— _oh god why was his sweat cold?_ “No. Stop! Get off me. No!”

Bile rose in his throat and he bucked up, trying to dislodge Shaw from him.

“Oh yes.” Shaw’s eyes fluttered closed, hands circling around Tom’s wrists painfully. “Just like that, Tom.”

He felt Shaw trying to push closer, felt him prodding, trying to force himself in and Tom’s heart clenched in fear, seized in panic, tears blurring his sight. He sobbed hoarsely for the person he reached for but couldn’t find in that dark place.

Shaw breathed down on him. “He’s not here, Tom…but I am.”

And then the weight was gone and Tom sat up in bed with a muted cry, clapping a hand over his mouth. His chest rose and fell as one ragged breath after another tore from his lungs but he was alone, blessedly alone. Shaw was as gone as a swirling line of smoke, but Tom still felt his skin crawling with the lingering sensation of Shaw’s body on his, feeling dirty and disgraced.

Trying to quell his sobs, he fumbled under the covers and found his phone. He dialed out and Chris answered on the third ring. Tom needed only to gasp his name before Chris was reaching for his shoes, promising that he would be right over.

And when Chris clambered over the window ledge ten minutes later, Tom stood anxiously by, fingers twisting together. He launched himself into his arms. Here was the right body, the right scent, the right warmth, and the feeling of safety brought tears to his eyes.

Chris held him, absorbing the tremors rolling off him, rubbing his back for comfort and security.

He asked, so quietly, what was wrong, why was he crying, what happened? But Tom just shook his head, mumbling between gasps the words “Shaw” and “dream” and “couldn’t breathe” and “ _he tried to—_.”

“No. Tom, no. He didn’t, okay? He didn’t. It wasn’t real.” He gripped his arms. “Come lie down with me. Baby, shh, it’s okay. Lie down with me.”

After securing the window and locking the door, Chris stretched out with Tom, falling in close, Tom clamping tightly to him, twining their legs, chests flush, his lips sighing thank you’s into his ear.

Stroking his hair, he whispered that they were alone in the room, that Chris would stay the rest of the night, that he was safe, that he could sleep.

After fifteen tense minutes in which Tom clung to Chris all the harder, wide eyes roving the room, he eventually nodded off, his fingers losing their hard grip on his sweater. Tom’s body loosened, all the tension melting away, settling into a pleasant heaviness at his side.

Still Chris held him, thumb grazing his sharp cheekbone, witnessing the soft, ethereal quality to Tom’s face in sleep. Gone was the anxiety that furrowed his brow, hardened his jaw, stilled the laughter on his lips. Chris kissed his forehead, unable to resist, hugging him close when Tom squirmed and mumbled something indistinct.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, staring into the dark.

**

Hours later, tangled in the blankets, Tom and Chris were thrust from sleep when their alarm started sounding under one of the pillows. After kissing Tom awake, his lips inching up his neck to bite at his ear, Chris had to dash home, the early dawn still night-like. Sprinting down the street, the cold air filled his lungs and helped to further wake him. He still felt the impression of Tom’s body on his own. They’d slept curled together the entire night and he missed his heat already.

Finally pulling into the parking lot at school later on, Chris took his hand and kissed it once, like a prince might in a fairy tale. Tom smiled, a bit sadly, or maybe it was fatigue, but he smiled and that’s what Chris wanted to see. He didn’t know the full details of Tom’s dream, but he knew it had alarmed him terribly. _Fucking Shaw_ , he thought as he watched Tom slip out of the car.

Once inside the loud front hallway, they stopped by Tom’s locker, where he knelt and fiddled with the combination before rummaging through his bag for books to leave behind.

“Hey, Chris, take a look at this!”

They both turned and saw Jaime at the end of the hall. He, Daniel and a couple of other guys were huddled around a phone, the bright screen lighting up their faces.

“Go ahead. I’ll be here for a few minutes,” Tom said, books and binders clutched in one hand.

“Be right back,” Chris said. He walked down the hall.

His phone buzzed and he checked it to see a text from Julie. Balancing the books on his bent knee, he typed back a response, but the binders in his other hand tottered a bit and one slid to the floor. Tucking the phone back into his pocket, he was about to pick it up when a hand reached down before he could.

“Hi, Tom.”

His blood went cold at that voice. Mr. Shaw stood over him, arm extended to hand him his book. Tom recoiled slightly. He snuck a glance behind him to where Chris had wandered off and saw him with his friends, facing the other way.

“Tom?” Mr. Shaw waved the book at him.

He took it quickly, revolted that Shaw had just touched it. Fragments of his dream from the night before flooded his mind and he had to swallow his urge to vomit.

“No ‘thank you’?” Mr. Shaw said, putting his hands in his pockets, trying to be light and humorous. It disgusted Tom.

He returned to packing his things away. “Just leave me alone.”

The crowd of students flowed around them, oblivious to the terror he tried so hard to keep at bay. There was so much noise; a sea of legs surrounded him. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his shaking hands quickly stuffing what he needed into his bag.

Mr. Shaw was smiling down at him, as if discussing the upcoming football game or a question on their assignment, but his voice was low, ensuring their conversation stayed private. “Listen, Tom. Over the summer, what happened…well, it was regrettable. I never wanted to see you hurt. You left here so suddenly and I wanted to make sure that you were okay.” When Tom didn’t respond, he sighed. “Surprisingly enough, I’ve been trying to catch you while you’re alone, so that we might be able to talk. That boyfriend of yours never leaves you for a second.” He laughed quietly.

In his haste, Tom’s agenda slipped through his fingers. He was only half listening to Shaw’s words, the threat of his proximity making his internal screams much louder. He cursed and was about to pick it up when another set of feet joined them.

“And who said he was alone?”

Tom's head snapped up.

Jason stood at his side, hands gripped tightly around his backpack straps, blue eyes cold and hard on Shaw.

“And I really think that you have nothing further to say to him,” Jason said, taking a step closer, menace radiating off his entire frame. “Or, for that matter, _do_ to him.”

Tom slammed his locker closed and got to his feet, just in time to see the forced smile on Mr. Shaw’s face that did nothing to hide the fact that he had paled considerably.

“Jason,” he said, eyes shifting nervously around them. “This really doesn’t concern you—.”

Jason would have taken another step forward, but Tom caught his arm just in time, highly conscious of an audience that could at any second become aware that something wasn't right. The hallway had emptied of most of the students, but one could never be too careful in situations such as these. 

“C’mon. Let’s go,” Tom whispered to him, pulling at his arm. He threw a panicked look down the hall to where Chris was just now turning to search for him, the easy smile on his face dying quickly as he took in the scene. He left his friends and hurried their way.

“I heard you were back,” Shaw was saying. “I have to admit, it was a bit of a shock seeing you earlier.”

Jason was fighting Tom’s attempt to pull him away from Shaw. “Oh, I bet it was.”

“I really thought it best if you had stayed away.”

“You son of a bitch,” Jason started, but Chris arrived at that moment and took a position opposite of Tom at Jason’s side. Shaw started backing up, all traces of as smile gone.

Chris clapped him on the shoulder jovially, keeping him in place. “Hey Mr. Shaw. How’s it going? Getting prepared for that exam coming up soon?” Not waiting for an answer, he tightened his hold on Jason’s elbow and turned to him. “You need to walk away now, buddy. It can’t be here.”

Tom still had hold of Jason’s arm and he felt him shaking, his rage barely contained. “C’mon,” he said again, but Shaw jumped in.

“I honestly never expected to see you again after you moved—.”

Chris spun, the same cold smile still on his face. “I suggest you stop speaking _now_ ,” Chris said, voice low, blue eyes like ice. In his face was the promise of a threat, authority be damned.

“Go on,” he said to Tom, waving at him to get Jason out of there. Taking Jason’s hand, Tom gladly obliged, relieved when Jason let himself be carted off. The hallway was nearly empty and if their little gathering hadn’t been suspicious before, it would certainly be now.

They rounded a corner and Tom lead Jason to the benches he and Chris used to lounge on during the summer.

Jason gripped Tom’s hand almost painfully, but Tom held on just as fast, worried that Jason would float away in all his anger.

“Goddammit,” he whispered and landed a hard kick on one of the blue double doors leading to the grounds outside. Tom jumped. The door swung wide open from the violence of the kick and hissed closed again.

“Please, Jason. It won’t help any if—.”

Jason spun and grabbed Tom in a hug.

Contact with another person besides Chris had Tom frozen. But Jason was muttering to himself and without having to look, Tom knew he was crying. He patted his shoulders carefully, telling him it would be alright, that he wasn’t alone in this, thanking Jason for being there for him.

Chris came skidding around the corner and Tom threw up his hand in a silent plea not to approach, aware of how Jason felt about Chris knowing everything about the rape. He didn’t want Jason to feel even worse if he realized Chris had seen him in tears.

“What am I going to do, Tommy?” Jason said brokenly. “What the fuck am I going to do with him _here_?”

To his immense credit, Chris nodded and slowly backed away. He headed up the hall towards their History class, tossing him one last glance before walking in. A burst of affection for Chris swept through Tom and he fought the urge to run after him.

“You, Jason, are going to get through this year. We both are, you hear me? A person like Shaw will always get what he deserves.”

Jason pulled back, cheeks splotched with color, eyes red and watery. “I can’t count on something like karma, Tom. I just can’t.” He took a look around, as if he hadn’t realized they were alone in the corner of the hall. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He hitched his bag higher on his back and walked around Tom.

“Where are you going?”

“Just away for a bit. I’ll be back later. But I can’t stay here right now.” He shoved his shades on and pushed the door half open. Sunlight spilled in and washed over half of his body. “Thanks, Tommy.” And he walked out, the door swinging closed behind him.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, his skin crawling with the awful sense that nothing good would come of this.

He slipped into class and slunk low to his seat, their teacher tossing him a stern glare, but otherwise let slide the fact that he was late. Some teachers were just wonderful.  

Chris tried to catch his eye, but Tom shook his head sadly and hurried to remove his binder from his bag to start taking notes. Chris immediately understood and sank low in his seat, both their thoughts on Jason.

At lunch, Chris snagged a corner table and they both stared down at their food, not very hungry.

Chris pushed his tray away and turned in his seat to face Tom, bracketing him between his legs. “Tell me,” he said.

Tom explained as best he could how Shaw approached him, what he said, and what happened after Jason came into the picture.

“The way he talked to him, like he had no remorse over what he did. How he hurt him.” Tom shrugged and pushed his food around with a fork. “Like his eyes were dead.”

Wanting to steer Tom away from thinking about that, he changed the subject. “So…’Tommy’?”

Tom laughed. “I have no idea where that came from. He started calling me that only recently.”

“Do you mind it?”

“Not really. I’ve never been called that before, but it’s fine. Do you?”

Chris shrugged. “I’m okay with it.”

Tom laced their fingers together. “Thank you for understanding about earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, other people might not have reacted as gracefully as you did when walking in on their boyfriend hugging another guy.”

Chris brushed it off. “Nah. I know he needed it. I’m more concerned about Shaw approaching you like that. That he waited for you to be alone. I don’t like that one bit.”

“I don’t either. I’m so looking forward to winter break after the play.”

Chris rubbed his hand over Tom’s back, feeling the knobby points of his spine glide beneath his fingers. Two weeks of no school with Tom. “Me too, babe. You have no idea.”

**

Disinclined to let Tom out of his sight, Chris walked him to Drama. Tom poked his head into the auditorium. “I don’t see him.”

“He might have ditched,” Chris murmured, peeking over the top of Tom’s head. “He deserved to get away, if you ask me.”

Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, Tom entered the auditorium for class.

Chris was in a tricky mood. He didn’t feel amped enough to run laps and he was too antsy to just sit and play on his phone. He wandered down the hall and looked in through the gymnasium doors. The overhead lights were dimmed, but he could still see the gleaming wooden floors of the main basketball court, the rows of bleachers that were folded back to create more room for the physical education classes.

Tryouts were scheduled for the next day and he was anxious to get it over with. He was positive he would place Varsity, maybe even the roll of captain. But he wasn’t getting his hopes up about that. After loitering for a bit, he headed outside to his car, where he dumped his sports bag and backpack into the rear seat.

He heard steps by the front of the school and looked up to see Shaw, holding that stupid oily briefcase, walking through the lot.

Chris didn’t hesitate. In the back of his mind, he was aware that they are alone and this spurred his growing rage. It didn’t occur to him to stop and think. This was the man who hurt Tom. The man who continued to try and power his way into Tom’s life. This man was the reason Tom woke up afraid. He remembered the small smile on Shaw’s face when Tom tried to hold Jason from him, the goading look of attempted dominance.

_Fuck that._

Chris straightened and slammed his car door closed, anger washing over him.

He stalked toward Shaw, cutting right across the black asphalt.

Shaw twirled his keys in one hand before spotting Chris. He faltered for a moment and then picked up his pace, trying to close the distance to his car.

Just as he inserted the key to unlock his door, Chris caught up to him and grabbed him by his jacket. Spinning him, he pushed him up against the car.

Shaw put his hands up to ward him off. “Chris, wait. Just wait—.”

“Wait for what? Huh?” He jerked him close by his lapels. “For Tom to be alone? For you to assault him again? To _molest_ him again? Let me explain something to you. You don’t fucking look at him anymore. And you will certainly never touch him again. Got it?”

Mr. Shaw had his eyes closed, his face pale in the cloudy afternoon. Chris shook him again until he looked at him.

“You fucking bastard. I know all about your sick fascination with him. I know how you stand outside his room.” Shaw’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. That ring a bell? Does that surprise you? Tom is not yours to watch.”

Shaw cocked his head, eyes narrowing with question. “But is he even yours, Chris? I must admit, I still dream of making him mine the way Jason was mine, for a time. It would be lamentable if he were…used…already. But having him would still be…” His eyes drifted shut and Chris felt a spark in his veins snap to life.

The swollen puffiness of Shaw’s jowls and temples sickened Chris enough, but his words made something flare in his chest, something bursting red, something cloaked in fury. “You’re a sick, disgusting fuck, Shaw. You’re sick, unstable.” He slammed him into the side of the car, the frame vibrating when he collided. “He’s mine. You hear me? He’s _mine_. He gives himself to me. Just this morning…I came in him.” He relished in how Shaw’s eyes snapped open, his jaw tightening, that sneering façade wavering at his words. “You hear me? I should kick your ass right here, you fucking shit.”

He vaguely heard someone shout his name, but his vision was reddened and one of his hands fisted in Shaw’s jacket was already releasing, his arm pulling back, Shaw’s face cringing against his intent.

Chris was _seething._

“Chris!”

Someone grabbed his arm, stepping between him and Shaw. A tall, thin body pressed against him, trying in vain to push him back, but his rage kept him rooted in place even as hands tried unsuccessfully to pull him away.

Tom’s face came into focus before him, eyes wide, breathing hard. And Christ, those eyes were beautiful, the spots of brown vivid against his blue-green irises. He knew those eyes.

“Chris, stop. It’s not worth it.” He cupped Chris’s face with his hands and forced his eyes away from Shaw, who despite his recent smirking, was quickly sinking out of sight. He picked up his briefcase and climbed into his car, starting it right away.  

Chris was vibrating with anger, barely hearing Tom’s words. “Chris, stop. Come with me. Please. Let’s go!” He wrapped his arm around his back and started pulling him away, trying to bodily maneuver him to his car. Chris, who couldn’t tear his eyes from Shaw’s escaping vehicle, was flushed red.  

Dropping his backpack to the dusty ground, Tom pushed himself against Chris and was wrapping his arms around his neck when he caught movement in the corner of his vision. He turned and spied a groundskeeper carrying a rake and shovel walking from around the main building, but he hesitated upon seeing Tom and Chris standing in the middle of the parking lot.

“Is everything okay?” he shouted across the way.

Tom nodded quickly, waving his hand. “Yes! Everything is fine. Thank you!” When the man didn’t move, he became worried that he didn’t believe him. Picking up his bag, he palmed Chris’s face. “Baby, we need to leave now. Come on. Chris, please.”

Chris was staring at his shoes, but let Tom take his hand and lead him to the car. Tom found the keys just outside the driver door where Chris must have dropped them. He opened the car and guided Chris in and then ran to the other side, falling in and slamming the door. Flinging his backpack behind him, he started the car and put the gear in reverse, speeding out of the parking lot. Fear crept into his blood stream when he saw that groundskeeper in the rearview mirror, watching as they left.

“Shit,” he said to himself, wondering how much the man saw.

Chris was silent, staring stonily down at his hands. Tom kept glancing at him.

“Baby?” He slowed for a red light.

Chris blinked. “I was going to hit him.”

“I know you were. But you didn’t. Okay? And I don’t think that man saw much.”

They were silent and Tom reached over for his hand.

Chris inhaled hurriedly and turned to him. “I’m sorry, Tom. I told Shaw something that isn’t true. I’m sorry.”

“What? Baby, what did you tell him?” He kept his eyes on the road, but squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“I was just so fucking mad—I still am! And he was standing there telling me how…how he wanted you—goddamn piece of _shit!_ ” He slammed his hand against the dash and Tom jumped, gulping. “I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t. I told him that you were mine and that…and that I come in you because you give yourself to me and I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t—think!”

Tom watched him as much as he could without endangering their lives on the road. “Did you really tell him that?”

Chris cast him sorrowful eyes, eyes that begged forgiveness. “Yes, babe.”

Tom’s jaw clenched and his foot went down on the pedal a little harder. He squeezed Chris’s hand softly. “Good.”

Chris stared open mouthed. “W-what?”

Tom met his eyes. “Good. I _am_ yours, Chris. And he needed to be reminded of that. I’m not his. I’m not his and he thinks that I am or that I could be, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “But I’m not. I’m yours. I love you.”

“Tom…”

“And it will be true, Christopher. It will be. Okay?”

Chris nodded, wide eyes still indicative of his great regret. He relaxed his head back, bringing their joined hands to his chest, rubbing at Tom’s knuckles softly.

Tom drove on, feeling the steady beat of Chris’s heartbeat against his fingers, and in his mind was the great image of Chris rearing back to hit Shaw and a flame of _want_ roared inside his chest, positive that he couldn’t love him more. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait was terrible and I am ashamed. Please forgive me. Here it is now *hides*

The rest of the drive home was silent. Chris would not relinquish Tom’s hand until after he parked his car just outside his house ten minutes later. Empty of his parents, who were still at work, Chris opened the door and led Tom to his room.

Nothing was said, only backpacks dropping and shoes slipping off and both climbing into bed. Chris was still visibly angry, his jaw clenched and his hands shaking. Tom took them gently and brought them round his waist, guiding Chris’s head to his chest, where he cradled him as he shook with barely suppressed tears.

“It’s alright,” Tom murmured, running his hand on the back of his neck, long blond strands of hair falling through his fingers. “You did nothing wrong, my love,” he said, sounding rather useless in his own ears, since of course Chris did nothing wrong. He was protecting Tom and his honor. But he knew that Chris was feeling immense guilt about what happened in the parking lot, what he had said, in addition to simple frustration at how helpless they felt about everything.

They lay like that until eventually Chris fell asleep, his tears drying hotly on Tom’s shirt. They had homework, Tom needed to be home for dinner, Chris’s parents might at any moment arrive home, but Tom didn’t care about any of that. Chris was resting, deservedly so after what happened, and if sleep was the way he escaped from this anguish, then Tom wouldn’t move a muscle. He never wanted him to worry, never wanted him to be so ensnared in what was Tom’s problem.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Chris’s hair, holding him close.

After about an hour, Chris started to shift in his arms. Tom had been dozing himself, blinking blearily out the window where the light was fading by the minute.

Chris shot up, tearing out of Tom’s arms in his hurry.

“Tom,” he said hoarsely, looking around the room. Then he noticed Tom still lying on the bed, smiling at him. “Oh.”

He lay back down and took Tom’s face in his hands. “Did I dream it?”

Tom shook his head.

Chris sighed and relaxed onto his back. “Fuck.”

Something in Tom’s chest hardened and he leaned up on his elbow to look down at Chris.

“I stopped you because it wasn’t worth getting in trouble over beating him up. It wasn’t worth being suspended, or worse, arrested for fighting a teacher. You would lose your position on the team, wouldn’t graduate. Your future would be ruined.” He touched his face softly. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t _want_ you to hit him. Because I did. I still do. And it isn’t like me, Christopher, to want such things. And I feel terrible.”

He sat up and made to move off the bed but Chris caught his wrist. “You aren’t terrible for wanting that. Any person would want revenge over what happened to you and Jason.”

“I don’t regret it, stopping you. I love you too much to allow negative repercussions to affect you. But coming out those doors, Chris, spotting you and Shaw in the parking lot, how you slammed him against the car. It was just like in my fantasies, where he eventually gets what he deserves by your hands.” He looked down, blushing. He hid his face in his fingers. Muffled, he said, “I’m stupid.”

Chris sank to his knees before him, taking his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. “You’re not. Don’t speak of yourself like that. You’re the smartest, nicest person I know. You’re the man I love.” He mocked rolled his eyes. “Would I pick a stupid person to love?”

Despite himself, Tom laughed. “No.”

Chris smiled and kissed his nose. “No, I wouldn’t.”

He stood and pulled Tom to his feet.

“He’s getting bolder. Approaching you in the halls like that. You have to promise me something, Tom.”

Tom nodded.

“You’ll take my car home and come get me after practice or I won’t try out. I’m being serious.”

Tom nodded. “I know you are. And yes, I’ll do that. I might even, sometimes, hang around until you’re done. I can do homework or read.”

Chris nodded. “If you want. It’ll ease my worry about him approaching you in the parking lot. He leaves around the time you get out of Drama. We can get to school earlier to get a closer parking spot so you don’t have to walk so far.”

“And I can walk out with Julie or Jason after class.”

They fell silent.

“I hate that we have to do this,” Tom whispered, running his hand over Chris’s chest.

“Me, too. But he’s not catching us by surprise again.”

Chris leaned down and kissed him, close-lipped and chaste, a promise. Tom embraced him, blinking slowly in the dim light.

**

They left ten minutes earlier than usual, finding a spot by the entrance. Chris handed Tom his car keys and he took them quietly, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans.

Their classes seemed to blur together and lunch was tasteless. Tom and Jaime worked on their English homework, whispering to each other, while Chris did his math homework, punching numbers into his calculator so hard that Tom touched his shoulder softly so that he stopped. 

What happened the day before was still with Chris, who had been quiet on the drive to school and during their classes. Tom wanted to believe it was because of try-outs, but he knew that wasn’t true. At least not entirely. He had looked at him across the seat and Chris met his eyes, tight and worried. He kissed Tom’s knuckles and kept driving, jaw clenched.

Since the summer, they’d tried so hard to erase Shaw from their lives. Impossible to do since he was their teacher. Finding each other, their feelings growing by the day, was a byproduct that Tom hadn’t expected. But he was thankful for it. Chris was a constant in his life and he wondered if they ever would have fallen in love had it not been for that day in the summer when Chris went back into the classroom on a hunch and followed him out into the sunlight, asking if he was okay. They thought their pretend relationship would mean the end of Shaw’s attentions. It only seemed to have made them worse.

Watching Chris furiously write the answer to his math question, those long tapered fingers gripping the pencil, Tom cursed Shaw in his mind for doing this to them, for darkening their love.

Just before Drama, he and Chris huddled together outside the building that housed the theater and gymnasium. The wind was bitterly cold and Tom’s curls ruffled beneath the wool beanie Chris gave him from his car. They were kissing and it was almost frantic the way Chris pressed him into the wall, crowding him in to stave off most of the wind’s chill. Their tongues rolled together and Tom moaned softly. Chris pulled away and rested his forehead on Tom’s shoulder, hand held to his chest. Their bags lay at their feet and Tom’s shoe nudged one when he shifted. Chris crowded closer, his body pinning him flat to the wall and Tom’s eyes fluttered closed. How he loved his strength.

While not having so many opportunities to discover this, what with Chris being a generally happy and good-natured person, Tom was beginning to find out that when upset, Chris’s touch was heavier, even if he didn’t mean it to be. His strength was unchecked and often used against whatever he was focused on. Usually, Chris was gentle and purred like a kitten. But now, with the threat of Shaw heavy on their minds and his physical encounter with him in the parking lot, Chris was a bit rougher in his attention on Tom, mouthing at his neck, fingers tightening on his wrist, muscled legs pushing. Tom gasped through it all, but he wasn’t afraid, confident that in any other setting, he would bend easily beneath him, letting him in.

But they were in public and Tom had to go to class and Chris needed to focus on basketball.

He kissed his cheek. “You’re going to be great,” Tom whispered in his ear when Chris kept his head on his shoulder.

Chris lifted up and cupped Tom’s cheeks, rosy from the cold, lips slightly chapped from the chill. Tom leaned into his touch, loving how warm his hands always were.

“Are you going home or waiting for me?”

“Today, I’ll wait for you. So you don’t have to worry.”

Chris crushed their lips together and grabbed Tom up in a hard hug. They stayed bent together until Tom had to sneak into the darkened auditorium.

**

Chris grabbed a locker next to Jaime and Daniel, both of whom were practicing a victory handshake, slapping palms together in elaborate patterns and jumping in the air.

He smiled at them as he laced up his sneakers. Across the room, Eric was putting on black ankle length socks and tossing him rude stares. He just ignored him and grabbed a towel and water bottle from his bag.

All the lights were on in the gymnasium, creating streaking glares on the buffered wooden floors, a familiar and welcome sight to Chris’s eyes.

He glanced at the clock above the main double doors. Tom would be getting out of Drama any minute. He had told him to come in to through the side doors, where the bleachers were still folded back. He would hardly be noticed in that corner, which is what Tom wanted, insisting he didn’t want to be a bother to Chris or his teammates.

Honestly, Chris was a bit nervous to have him there, even if he knew Tom would be quiet as a mouse. When Tom admitted to having watched Chris through the glass doors before they’d even met, Chris was flattered. But now, he was hoping he wouldn’t trip and fall.

Their coach walked in, speaking quietly to the assistant coach. Chris immediately straightened and walked over to the baseline. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement and turned to see Tom slip in through the side doors, immediately heading to the corner and curling up on the floor. Chris smiled and winked at him, seeing Tom’s blush even from where he stood.

Daniel sidled up next to him, lifting a leg to stretch his quads. Farther down the baseline, Eric sniggered. “Looks like someone’s little bitch just got here.”

Chris took a step toward him. “You fucking—.”

But Daniel put a hand on his chest.

“Ignore him, Chris. Handle your shit here in practice and ignore him. We both know how amazing Tom is. Eric saying otherwise isn’t going to change that.”

Chris swallowed hard and nodded, turning away from Eric with a grimace.

He glanced at Tom to see if he had noticed anything, but he was busy putting earphones on and cracking open a book.

Chris breathed out and flexed his hands.

Two hours passed in quick order. They’d run laps and suicides, been tested in dribbling and hand-eye coordination, ambidextrous layups, and played one-on-one, as well as half-court/full-court press and offensive/defensive maneuvers. Over the week, each aspect of the game would be broken down, but this first day was always a run through of the fundamentals. Eventually, they would go over defensive screens, switching on defense, man-to-man versus zone, and passing, among other things. Their coach liked to start tryouts on Thursdays because it allowed the boys to rest over the weekend for the grueling endurance runs he had them do the following week.

Throughout it all, Chris’s mind was a red zone. He was centered on the existence of the ball and the shouted commands of his coaches and teammates. His limbs were like fluid, the ball moving seamlessly from hand to hand, his large palm gripping the beaded leather, the black ribs of the ball guiding his fingers for accurate shot after shot. Eric kept trying to throw him off by firing passes at him with too much force or misleading him in plays but Chris was too focused to let anything but his reflex direct his reactions. He hardly spared Eric a glance beyond what was necessary. He knew where every teammate was, their progress in the play, and their recovery time when possession changed.

It was liberating, this unique sense of concentration. It was always unlike anything Chris had experienced: pulse pounding in his ears, the sweat dripping down his face, knowing instinctually where a teammate would be because they were parts of a much larger sum, a complete organism of shared knowledge.

Despite haven taken great care to stretch his muscles thoroughly before practice began, Chris knew he would be very sore the next day.

Coach called an end to the session and everyone visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping, feet dragging. They were exhausted.

Chris looked over to where Tom was sitting, his body curled up against the bleachers, face peering around the edge, eyes wide, looking very much like an adorable owl. He smiled when Chris saw him, nodding when he motioned that he would be right back.

Showering quickly and changing into sweatpants and a pullover hoodie, Chris said goodbye to his teammates and hurried back to the gymnasium. Most of the lights were already off and a janitor pushed a broom over the hardwood floor near the main entrance.

Tom had packed up and was waiting quietly in the same corner, the screen of his phone lighting his face blue.

Chris crouched in front of him, wincing at how his legs protested.

“Are you hurt?” Tom said, getting to his knees.

“No. But I will feel it tomorrow,” Chris said, laughing.

Tom touched his face, fingers skimming over his wet hair. “You were stunning out there.”

“You watched?”

“How could I not? You were like a sun god, sweating so brightly, muscles bunching and releasing, those legs carrying you across the court in mere seconds.” Tom swallowed and smiled nervously. “Yeah, I watched.”

Chris couldn’t help blushing. “Did you even get any work done?”

“Yes, I did. I had to tear my eyes away, but I did.”

“Flatterer.”

He pulled him to his feet and they marched out into the cold night.

Tom was fishing the keys from his front pocket as Chris was describing one of the plays when someone approached them from behind at a run. They were turning when someone tackled into Chris, his hand ripped from Tom’s grasp.

“Chris!” he yelled, watching with wide eyes as Chris was thrown to the hard pavement, his knees tearing on impact.

Eric’s face was hard as he jumped on Chris and punched him square in the jaw before he could orient himself.

“You think you’re going to make Captain, Hemsworth, but you’re not.” He punched him again and Tom shouted at him to stop.

“Shut up, faggot!”

Chris spit blood to the side. Eric grabbed his neck and squeezed and Chris gripped at his forearms, trying to get to his feet.

“Fuck you, Samuels,” he ground out.

“Captain is mine. I’m done being second string to you. In fact, you won’t play at all if I break your fucking face—.”

He collapsed to the side when Tom swung his backpack and hit him on the head. Eric lunged and seized Tom’s leg, pulling it out from under him. Tom hit the ground as Eric clawed at his sweatshirt. In a matter of seconds, Eric reared up over him and Tom's hand shot out, dragging his nails down the side of Eric's neck, drawing blood. He screamed and yanked Tom up. His shirt underneath tore at the collar but he barely noticed as he was hauled close enough for Eric to land a punch to Tom’s stomach and smack him across the face with his other hand.

He doubled over, his air gone, head whipping to the side with the second blow.

His jaw bloomed with pain and his mind lit up with a terrible ringing and there were so many glittering pieces of glass on the ground, catching light in the lampposts.

Chris, tangled with his bags, was scrambling to his feet and barreled into Eric with a yell, rolling him away from Tom, who lay dazed on the ground.

He heard them off to the side, scuffling, and he half tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed and his voice wouldn’t cooperate. He’d never been hit before, in any capacity, and the pain and lack of breath surprised him.

“Your little slut has some fight in him,” Eric was saying, laughing. “I bet you like that.”

Chris reared back and punched him.

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Another punch.

Tom turned his head and saw Chris sitting atop Eric, holding him in place by his shirt. “Chris…”

Chris froze, fist in midair. He turned and their eyes connected. Tom coughed, clutching his stomach. He whispered his name again.

Chris gathered Eric close. “You fucking started this, Samuels. I was going to let you go the rest of the season by ignoring you. But you… _touched him_. Now watch me finish this.” He lifted an elbow and brought it down hard on Eric’s sternum. The other grunted in pain, his air escaping him in a hurried huff.

Climbing off, Chris scrambled to where Tom lay, dropping to his side. The only thing Tom saw from that angle was the blood running down Chris’s legs from the gashes on his knees before Chris was picking up the keys and sliding his arms under Tom’s neck and legs, lifting him easily. The starry sky tilted above him and Tom gripped Chris tight around his shoulders, his stomach twisting with vertigo. He unlocked the passenger door, kicking it open to set Tom inside.

He crouched by the door and touched his hair, turning his head to get a look at Tom’s face. Is it bad, Tom thought, touching his wrist, watching his jaw clench in anger. Chris’s eyes flashed out the windshield to where Eric was barely rising to his elbows.

Tom clutched his shirt. “No. Darling, don’t. Just…come back to me. Okay?”

Chris didn’t say anything.

“Please.”

Finally, Chris nodded and stood to retrieve their bags strewn on the ground. Eric was on his knees, watching Chris warily.

“Fucking dipshit,” Chris said to him and spat on the ground by Eric’s hands.

He tossed the bags into the backseat and started the car.

Tom made a valiant effort to sit up straight, not wanting to look worse off but he really just wanted to lie down and curl into himself. His stomach muscles felt bruised and his jaw throbbed, making him want to stretch it.

Maneuvering out of the parking lot, Chris gripped his knee. “Are you okay? Tom?”

Tom blinked and grimaced, nodding after a moment. “Yes. I’m fine.” He was still catching his breath. “You? You’re bleeding.”

Chris shrugged it off. “It’s nothing. I need to get a good look at your face.”

He pulled over into a fast food parking lot and killed the engine. Flicking on the overhead light, he turned in his seat and scooted closer to Tom.

“Hold still, let me see.”

Tom angled his head as Chris tilted his jaw up, touching the tender spot just to the side of his chin where Eric’s hit landed.

Chris sighed. “It’s bruising, but looks like it won’t swell badly.” He placed his hand on Tom’s, folded over his stomach. “And here? Let me see.”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ll be fine.”

“Thomas.”

He lifted his shirt and Chris frowned, touching the tips of his fingers to the area just below Tom’s ribs, where his skin was turning a mottled red. Tom flinched and he withdrew his hand.

“Goddamned bastard.”

Tom took his wrist. “You listen to me, Christopher. I don’t know why he did this, something about being captain or other, but you cannot go after him for this. Don’t do it. Please. It’s not worth it. As it is, what’s your coach going to say when he sees you tomorrow? Or Eric for that matter? You think he won’t put two and two together?”

“Sees me?”

Tom smiled sadly. “Your face, love.”

Chris pulled down his sun visor and checked in the mirror. His lip, left cheek and eyebrow were split, blood drying in splotches over that side of his face. There would be bruising in the morning.

“And your knees will scab terribly.”

Chris looked down. “I don’t care about that, Tom.”

Tom bit his lip and shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Let’s just tell people we got into a fight at the local library or something. Those books selling for a buck each really bring out our true colors.”

Chris smiled. “You grabbed a book at the same time some old lady did and well, things turned ugly.”

“You won that tug of war for me,” Tom whispered, touching his bloodied hair. “My champion.”

Chris looked down. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“Don’t be, Christopher.” He pulled Chris to him, mindful of his hurt face. “Don’t be. I seriously think there’s something wrong with him. I mean, did you hear the way he was laughing? I don’t think he’s right in the head.”

Chris huffed against his neck. “No one is right in the head here.”

**

Chris wanted to put ice on Tom’s face and ribs, but his parents were home and Tom didn’t want any more unnecessary questioning.

They stayed in his car until Tom was sure he could walk in without being too obvious about his injury.

“I want to go in with you,” Chris begged.

“No, darling. My parents take one look at your face and they’ll never believe my story.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“I actually don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”

Chris pulled him close and kissed his lips. “Babe…”

They fell closer together, Chris’s lips straying to his cheeks and neck, nipping at his ear. Tom gasped and angled his head for more. “Come to me tonight. Please, come to me.”

“I will,” Chris whispered, kissing him one last time. Tom gathered his bags and got out, wincing when his stomach pulled tight.

Inside, his mom was wiping down a shelf inside the refrigerator when he closed the door behind him.

“Hey, hon. How was school?” She straightened and got a look at his face. “Oh, Tom, what happened to your chin?”

Imagining it was a line in one of his roles, Tom shrugged and smiled self-consciously. “A prop collapsed on stage today and caught me by surprise. Clocked me right in the chin. Luckily my friend Jason was there and took it off me, getting me a bag of ice almost immediately.” He touched his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s what why the swelling isn’t as bad. But I don't know, it might be worse in the morning.” His stomach flipped uncomfortably, hating to lie to her. But he would rather that than create a conflict he was unprepared to face. He couldn’t tell her that someone had punched him twice and that, by protecting him, Chris was in worse shape.

“Let me get you some cream for that,” she said, frowning and tilting his head in very much the same way Chris just had.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, following her to the bathroom. “You should have seen Chris today. His tryouts were amazing. I think he’ll make captain for sure.”

“That’s wonderful! He certainly deserves it, after training so hard all summer.” She picked a tube of ointment from the medicine cabinet and handed it to him. “Put some on before bed. Are you hungry?”

He shook his head and thanked her before heading upstairs. He sighed in relief. He quickly undressed and jumped in the shower, the hot water soothing his body. The bruise on his chin wasn’t so bad, not compared to what Chris would look like in the morning. But it was a deep red and would turn green over the next few days. The skin on his stomach was clearing already, even if the soreness would remain for a while.

With all his homework done, Tom sat in bed with a book, a hand rubbing absentmindedly over his sore ribs. At a quarter past nine, he crawled under the covers, trying not to wince. Curling over his pillow, he blinked at the window, waiting for Chris.

**

Chris limped up the stairs. He fought back groans every time he bent his legs to take another step, but his parents were sleeping and he needed to wash all that blood off.

When finally under the heavy spray of water, he felt his limbs start to shake. Practice had been demanding enough, especially as his muscles grew more tender the faster they cooled down. But with Eric’s assault, his knees were torn and his face was cut up. He leaned up against the wall and watched the blood spiral down the drain, his cuts stinging from the water. Further inspection showed the wounds weren’t too deep, but would scab terribly, as Tom said.

_Tom._

Chris fisted his palms and gritted his teeth, images pouring into his mind of Tom’s head whipping to the side, those long slender hands coming up to cradle his stomach after the second blow. Chris never knew such anger, the same kind of anger that burned into his blood during his confrontation with Shaw. Seeing Eric hit Tom silenced all sound in his ears, only the painful gasp Tom gave as he fell to the ground. 

The way Eric’s face yielded to his punches was so intense a satisfaction that it frightened him. It wasn’t until that whisper, Tom’s voice sliding into his ears that Chris pulled away with a disgusted huff. But not before delivering one final blow, one he hoped Eric felt for weeks.

Quickly putting that scumbag out of his mind, Chris took bandages from under the sink and fixd one on each knee after applying ointment. The cuts on his face were superficial and would heal in no time. The bruising, not so much, but fuck it. He’d figure out what to say to his parents later. Maybe he wouldn’t even see them in the morning.

By the time he’d showered and dressed warmly, it was past ten o’clock. He sent Tom a quick text and climbed out the window.

No matter how much preparation he went through for tryouts, the coaches always knew how to work them so that their muscles were extremely sore in the days after. Rather than jog like he normally would, Chris made the trip to Tom’s house at a walk, checking his phone every few seconds, but Tom still hadn’t responded.

After making sure no one was around, Chris climbed the ladder and pushed open the window. Tom left it unlocked for him but he latched it again once he was inside. The room was dark, but he could see the outline of Tom under the blanket, fast asleep. One glance at the door told him it was locked.

He hesitated. He didn’t want Tom to wake up in a panic, thinking he was Shaw.

As quietly as he could, he removed his shoes and crawled onto the bed, taking care not to touch him in any way. He lay on his side watching his back rise and fall with every breath, his curls fluffed together on the pillow. Minutes later, he felt himself drifting and closed his eyes to sleep.

It couldn’t have been very long after that he startled awake. Tom, still asleep, had closed the distance between them and was clasped to his side, shifting, his brow furrowing, hand on Chris’s chest. He was completely hard and pushing against his leg.

And then Tom’s eyes opened and he lay frozen on the bed, gaze falling on Chris.

They stared at each other.

Tom’s fingers tightened on his shirt. “Are you real?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He blinked and licked his lips, eyes dropping. “Prove that you’re real.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Don’t disappear. Don’t disappear to where I can’t find you.”

Something cracked in Chris’s chest. “Babe, is…is that what happens in your dreams?”

“Yes,” Tom said hoarsely and the heaviness of his voice warned of tears. "You're there and then you're gone and it's suddenly him and I'm left alone and he tries..."

“I’m not going anywhere, Tom. It’s me.”

Very slowly, Tom touched the edges of the cuts on Chris’s face, his eyes drifting down to where the bandages on his knees shone brightly in the dark.

“Kiss me,” Tom said, voice ragged enough that Chris was momentarily thrown by how hard his desire hit him.

He grabbed him around the waist and brought their lips together, Tom moaning from the wide-palmed grip Chris had on his back. He tossed the blanket away and rolled Tom under him, hissing when his erection pushed against his abdomen.

“Christ, Tom.” He pushed his hips down and they both moaned.

Tom was touching his hair, running his hands down his face and behind his neck. “You’re real.”

“I’m real, babe. I’m—” He grunted when Tom lifted his hips— "I'm real.”

He kissed his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, down to his neck and that mark of his, hands on Tom’s wrists, holding him still.

Chris lay his head on his tender ribs, kissing the skin softly. “Does it still hurt?”

“I’m okay.”

He stared at him and then nodded, trailing his lips to his belly button.

“Chris,” Tom said, lifting his head as Chris moved further down, watching with wide eyes as Chris looked down at Tom’s crotch, tented with his erection.

“I want to taste you,” Chris said softly, lifting his eyes to Tom’s. “May I taste you?”

Tom, desire and shock and excitement and _yes, yes, yes_ beating through his blood, could only nod, mouth parted, the air so tight in his chest. His mind was ablaze with what he knew Chris was about to do. His mouth went dry as Chris slowly exposed Tom, dragging down his boxers, the sharp point of his hips jutting up invitingly.

Just his stare, just Chris looking down at him made Tom whine low.

And then he bent down and pressed his face against the base of his shaft, mouthing at his balls, inhaling his scent. Tom was struck with the memory of him doing that before and he figured Chris had wanted to try it for some time now.

Glancing up at Tom and then at the door to his room, he whispered, “You need to be quiet for me now.”

He could only nod, his voice not exactly functioning.

Chris had never done this before, couldn’t imagine what it would be like, the taste, the texture, but he knew, ever since their time in his car after Stephanie’s party, that he was desperate to suck Tom. Mouth watering, he gripped the base of his dick and took him in. He was hot, so fucking hot, and he moaned when Tom gasped, his hands clutching the sheets.

Tom bowed at the vibrations, shaking as they radiated down his legs. “Fuck, Christopher… _fuck._ ”

Wanting to smile, Chris took him a little deeper. Tom almost never cursed, so he must be doing something right. Remembering how other guys did it in videos he’d seen online, Chris started bobbing his head, eyes fluttering closed at the bitter but not unpleasant taste of Tom’s precome. It reminded him of raw almonds and he widened his mouth for more.

Tom was panting. Straining his neck to see, he babbled something that included a whole lot of Chris’s name, letting his head fall to the bed and arching his back. His leg kept wanting to lift, but Chris kept one hand on his thigh to hold him steady, thumb pressing down on the bruise he left there. 

Curling his hands at the base, Chris let his saliva gather and trickle down Tom’s shaft, easing his movements, his tongue flitting to the slit at the tip.

Another inch down. He thought he would have gagged by now, but when Tom lifted his hips with a groan and sank even further into his throat, he felt no trigger for it. Bracing his hand on his thigh to keep him in place, Chris tested how far he could take him and he all too soon found his nose pressed against Tom’s pelvis, his curls soft on his face. Tom was nudged back against his throat and Chris held his breath, his tongue licking along the underside vein of his cock. His impulse to swallow overcame him and Tom jerked, jamming a fist against his mouth to keep quiet, his other hand trembling on the blanket.

“ _Shit. Oh, Chris—.”_

Chris pulled up and smiled wide at Tom. He swallowed again, breathing heavily, ragged. “Tom—oh god, Tom. I think—I think I don’t have a—.” He laughed, surprised and delighted and immensely proud, and bent down again, taking him whole, taking him deep. He popped up again. “Come for me, Tom. Come down my throat. I want it.” Down he went, licking down the shaft, adoring the way Tom was looking at him with glazed eyes, his face and neck a gorgeous shade of red. He was trembling and Chris felt something bloom in his chest that only he could see Tom like this. Sucking hard at his cockhead, he held Tom open with one hand and slowly slid his hand down his balls, cupping them, curling his fingers to knead at them—and how Tom trembled, he was so close—and then further down along the cleft of his ass, his long finger prodding along his entrance.

Tom lifted his head, gasping, and Chris met his eyes, asking silent permission. Tom hesitated, took a deep breath, and then nodded, whispering _yes_ at the same time.

Chris eased up, taking in air, licking his lips, that salt still on his tongue. His hand pumped slowly to keep Tom on the edge. Wetting his finger with his own saliva, he moved it over Tom’s hole, hyper aware of his shaking body, his incoherent whispers, the way his legs widened to give Chris more room.

Spread out before him, Tom glowed in the moonlight, hips undulating as if he couldn’t help himself.

Keeping his eyes on him, Chris took him in his mouth again and pushed the tip of his index finger inside, testing his resistance. He was tight. Very tight.

Freezing completely, Tom lay arched on the bed, hand clamped over his mouth. And when Chris bobbed his head, sucking hard and nudging his finger the tiniest bit deeper, Tom came with a muted sob, his voice caught behind closed lips.

Cum spurted down Chris’s throat, hot and salty. He swallowed quickly, moaning at the way Tom’s cock pulsed in his mouth. His anus constricted around his finger, drawing it in further and Tom seized up, his hand shooting out to touch Chris’s head, grip his hair, tugging, his scalp burning deliciously.

And Chris, unable to avoid it any longer, came hard, his cock throbbing the entire time, finally bursting in his sweatpants, untouched.

He released Tom with a wet pop and rested his head on his inner thigh, catching his breath. Pleasure rolled through blood, blinding him, so that he shivered and touched his hips to the edge of the bed for one final pulse in his climax.

Tom was lying still on his back, hands flittering on his chest, gazing dazedly at the ceiling.

“Tom.”

Tom blinked, his fingers twitching.

“I’m going to pull out now.”

He lifted his head and nodded. “Okay.”

“Slow now,” Chris murmured, sliding his finger back out. Once free, he kissed Tom's hip and stretched out next to him, gathering him into his arms.

“I’m sorry if I was terrible,” Chris whispered.

Tom pulled back. “Terrible? Chris, that was…I felt…never had I…" He sighed. "You were amazing.”

“I love the taste of you. It’s…different. And warm.”

They laughed and Tom hid his face in his hands, embarrassed.

“But what I did with my finger…was that…ok?”

Tom looked down. “I was afraid it would hurt. And it stung a little, but in the end…it was really wonderful. I guess I just have to get used to it.” He laughed quietly. "You didn't go in very far."

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—.”

“No! Chris, I liked it. Darling, I liked it. But it’s still so new. And honestly, you are the only person I would ever want to explore this with. That it was you made it much, much easier for me. We can, you know, learn more about it and we can prepare for it better next time. Like we need lube and condoms and maybe watch stuff online...”

He grew quiet when he noticed Chris just staring at him, a big smile on his face.

"What? Don't look at me like that."

Chris laughed. "Like what?"

"Like either I'm the greatest delight in your life or the biggest fool."

"The first one. You are not a fool."

He kissed him and Tom pulled back, eyes wide. "Do I taste like that?" Without waiting for Chris to answer, he yanked him close again and widened their kiss, moaning when their tongues rolled together.

“Wait—Tom, wait,” he said, smiling, as Tom followed his mouth, wanting more. “Two things. One, I desperately need new boxer shorts right now. And two…did you just suggest we watch porn together because I am totally down for—.”

A pillow hit him in the face as Tom laughed and shuffled to the edge of the bed to get him new boxers.


	26. Chapter 26

He woke up to Tom murmuring at his neck, asleep. He lay listening to him breathe. The warm weight of his body curled next to him granted Chris such a deep level of peace. He wanted this for as long as Tom allowed it. And even then he would continue to want it, never able to imagine his life without him.

That goofy grin and those frequent hugs, so comfortable with touching him now, his skittish nature returning only when Tom was around people he didn't know, angling himself to stand just behind Chris, peering at the other person curiously as he slid their hands together. But when alone with Chris, Tom reached and gathered him close and sighed along his skin, safe and unreserved.

He tilted Tom's face slightly, loving how his brows puckered in sleep. The bruise on his chin was darker, making him wonder how bad his own face was.

Sliding out from under Tom, Chris stifled his groan of pain. His legs and arms were extremely sore from practice, but he managed to stand and tiptoe to the mirror.

One glance showed just how bad he looked. His lip was scabbed over and slightly swollen. His cheek was bruised, yet no black eyes. And his eyebrow was cut open but no longer bleeding. His knees felt the worst. He'd landed on them pretty hard, and the torn skin burned when he moved.

He needed to get home to change his bandages and get ready for school.

"Baby," he whispered, kissing the back of Tom's neck.

Tom moaned but stayed asleep.

"Babe. Wake up."

A whisper. "No."

He laughed quietly and poked a finger at his ribs. Tom gasped and sprang up, Chris grabbing him in a hug. Surprised, Tom sat stiffly for a second before melting into that embrace, folding himself around his torso with ease.

"You're so ticklish. I love it," Chris murmured.

"Shut it."

"Last night, Tom...thank you."

Tom hugged him tighter. "I love you. And I trust you." He kissed his shoulder softly. He wanted to further explore what they had done, what Chris had done to  _him,_ his mouth on him, his finger in him. Tom wanted more of it. And Chris was the only person he had any desire to take that step with. It would happen soon. He felt it in his heart. 

Chris, nuzzling Tom's neck, felt giddy with the knowledge that nothing more needed to be said between them.

**

Tom felt conspicuous all day. The bruise on his chin was like a bright beacon, just as the butterfly bandage had been on his temple when classes first started in August. People's gazes drifted from his eyes down to his jaw. Good thing they couldn't see his ribs. When Chris checked them that morning just before crawling out the window, the skin was bruised purple. Tom saw how his face darkened with anger and he quickly kissed him, not wanting their day to start off badly.

But Chris was worse off, even if he cruised through the hallways with his head high, not ashamed in the least to sport evidence of his fight with Eric. When Daniel and Jaime asked at lunch about what had happened, they seemed taken aback by Eric's brazen behavior.

"That's insane," whispered Jaime, popping a grape into his mouth. "Going after you and Tom alone. I'm surprised he didn't have back up."

"Which makes me wonder why he did it," said Tom. "Like it wasn't calculated, more like an impulse. Does he have some kind of history of...severe anger or I don't know, poor mental health?"

Daniel chuckled. "It's pretty stupid on his part, I agree. Chris obviously handed it right back to him and won. Eric's only advantage was taking him by surprise. But going after you, Tom? With Chris right there? I'm surprised he's still breathing."

Chris rubbed a circle on his lower back and winked at him.

Tom blushed and went back to his notes.

"Seriously, though," Chris said, leaning on his elbow. "Was he always like that? I didn't know him before I moved here, but he seems pretty popular."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Only because he's fun at a party. He's a hilarious, drunk mess. As a friend, he seems like shit to me. The only guy he was close with before was that Jason dude and even now they don't seem to hang out as often."

Tom and Chris shared a private glance but said nothing.

He and Jason would be performing their scenes before the entire group in Drama that day. Tom took the opportunity before attendance was called to sneak backstage to the storage room. He rummaged in the makeup box for cover-up. Maybe he could conceal the bruise for the time being rather than suffer more questioning stares from his peers.

He squinted at the tiny letters written on the bottle. It seemed light enough for his complexion. Just as he was scooping a small glob of pale foundation with his fingertip, he sensed someone behind him. He turned fast, dropping the container of makeup with a clatter.

It was Jason, hesitating by the storage door.

"Uh, hey," Jason said.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm in this class with you, Tom."

Tom blinked fast. "I know that. But you skipped the last two days. I just…I wasn't expecting you." He was turning away when Jason stepped up to him, catching his elbow.

His eyes went from the bruise on his chin to the scoop of makeup on his bent finger.

"What happened?"

Tom flushed and looked down, the small closet feeling tightly cramped with Jason in it. "N-nothing. It's nothing--."

"Tom, who did this? Who hit you?"

His jaw was set in a way that reminded him of Chris and it suddenly dawned on him that Jason might suspect that _Chris_ had been the one to hit him.

"It wasn't Chris," he said a little angrily, yanking his elbow away and replacing the makeup in its container.

"I never suspected that it was. He adores you. Also, I saw him in the halls after lunch and his face is a mess. I half expected you were the one who hit him, but then I thought, well, that just wasn't you." He cracked a smile that Tom didn't return. He crossed his arms and looked at Tom pointedly. "Who was it?"

Tom sighed. "It was Eric."

Jason's eyes hardened. "Samuels?"

He nodded.

"When was this?"

"Yesterday after their practice. I waited for Chris until he finished and as we were walking to his car, Eric ran up behind us and jumped Chris."

Jason was incredulous, mouth opening and closing. "So…ok, wait. So he jumps Chris and then hits you too?”

Tom was getting distinctly uncomfortable in that stuffy room.

“Well, he tackled Chris to the ground and he was carrying like three bags and got tangled in them when Eric grabbed me.” He stopped, trying to inch toward the door.

But Jason followed him step by step. “What else did he do?”

Tom shook his head, goose bumps sprouting along his skin. “I don’t—I’m just going to…”

Jason sighed and took his wrist, drawing him back toward the box of makeup. “Here. Let me help you.”

Taking the container of cover up, Jason dipped his pinky in and began to smear it his palm. Taking a small amount, he tilted Tom’s face up so the light hit it better. Dabbing it over the bruise, Tom winced and Jason met his eyes, unreadable. He smoothed it until it blended perfectly into his skin.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly skittish?”

Tom felt warmth spread along his cheeks and Jason’s eyes followed the blush. Tom looked down.

“Chris has.”

Jason laughed quietly. “He would.” He rubbed his chin a final time. “There.” Capping the bottle, he was about to set it back into its box when he hesitated. “Was that the only spot?”

“What?”

Jason turned. “The only spot he hit you? Because if I know Eric, he took a cheap shot.”

Hesitating, Tom glanced at the door and then back at Jason. “No. It isn’t the only one.”

Something fell in his face. “Show me?”

Tom’s fingers curled under the hem of his shirt as he lifted it, showing Jason his bruised ribs.

He inhaled sharply. “Jesus, Tom.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

Jason scoffed. “Don’t make excuses for him.”

Tom’s eyes flashed. “I’m not. And besides. Chris gave it back to him. And worse. A straight shot to his sternum.” He felt a strange burst of energy tingle up his back at the memory. The raw power in those clenched fists, every muscle held tight.

Jason eyed him and then smirked. “Good. Eric’s a damn fool to go up against Chris by himself, especially with threatening you.” He gestured to his ribs, hidden away by his shirt again. “Let’s hope that heals up before the play. And if not…” He shook the little container before tossing it into the box on the table. “C’mon, let’s head back before someone notices we’re missing and gossip abounds,” he said in his King Oberon voice, making Tom smile.

Putting the box back on one of the shelves, Tom flicked off the switch, but not before catching the look of outrage on Jason’s face just as the light went out.

**

At practice, Eric was sporting a black eye and bruised jaw, plus three deep scratch marks down the right side of his neck.

Chris smirked as he laced his shoes.

They said nothing to each other, but Chris couldn't help but notice how Eric grimaced as they ran their laps, Chris's heavy blow to his solar plexus no doubt making breathing while running a bit of a problem.

If Tom was bruised from when Eric hit him, Chris could only imagine that Eric’s chest was black and blue. He smiled as he pushed ahead of the group, leading the laps. His muscles screamed, even with the extra stretches he did before practice, but seeing Eric struggle gave him extra motivation.

His coach had taken one look at Chris and Eric’s faces before shaking his head and going back to his playbook. “Not on school grounds,” was all he said, but Chris knew this was one of his moments to outshine Eric. Which is why he only gritted his teeth and didn’t rise to the bait when Eric, smiling, answered the coach, “Oh, this? A girl did this to me. You know how some like it rough, coach.”

“Alright, that’s enough, Samuels. Chris, go ahead and get the laps started while I finish up here.”

Chris smirked at Eric, who tossed him an angry glare.

They were still running when their coach came into the gym. He nodded at Chris and gathered them in, briefing them on their agenda for that day. Another week of this and Chris was guaranteed the position of captain.

Tom was sitting in the same corner, hidden away by the bleachers. Chris sought him out every time they ran past that side of the gym, smiling at how he was bent over his textbook, earphones plugged in.

He was relieved when practice was over and they finally had the weekend to themselves. Jogging across the gym after his shower, Chris ran up to Tom and grabbed him up in a hug, spinning him in place. Tom gasped, laughing.

“You’re all wet!”

Chris growled and buried his face in his neck, rubbing his wet hair over Tom’s cheek.

Tom wrapped him close as Chris pushed him against the wall—he really loved to push Tom up against walls—feeling his pulse accelerate.

Mouthing at his neck, Chris murmured, “Movies this weekend?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered closed. “Yes, Christopher.”

A door slammed across the court and someone cleared their throat. “I’m closing everything down now.”

It was the janitor, standing by the far double doors, keys in hand.

Chris took Tom’s hand and pulled him to the side exit. “Sorry, man. We’re leaving now!”

They laughed as the cold air hit their faces, Chris pulling the beanie Tom wore lower on his head. His arm was warm on his shoulders and Tom gripped him around the waist, falling into an easy balance as they walked to his car.

No one ran up to them. No one hurt them. There was no sound apart from the biting wind. And if Tom closed his eyes, he and Chris were all alone beneath the stars, no bruises, no cuts, unmarred.

**

“I need deodorant.”

Tom snorted, putting his finger between the pages of the book he was reading. “That’s entirely fascinating to me.”

Chris collapsed on the bed next to him. “I’m serious. Let’s go to the store before the movie.”

He closed his book with a smile. "Yes, alright."

They stopped at a convenience store near the movie theater. Down the aisles they went, pinkies hooked together. It was overly bright inside, a Christmas song playing from the overhead speakers.

“Not even the end of November,” Chris murmured.

Nearly passing the one they wanted, Tom gestured with his chin. "Here."

As Chris perused the varied sticks of deodorant with the utmost serious concentration, Tom wandered down the aisle, fingering the razor blades and bottles of lotion.

Minutes later when Chris straightened with his selection, Tom wasn't next to him.

"Tom?"

Hearing no answer, he left the aisle and walked down the next few, finally finding him in the cosmetics department. He was rifling through a clear tub of nail polishes, picking one up in his thin fingers. He was gripping another bottle in his left hand, a pale pink. But the one he was currently looking at was dark purple.

Chris watched him flick his eyes between the two, clearly undecided.

"Found you," he said, smiling.

Tom started, dropping the bottles back into the tub in a hurry. His face was beet red.

"I didn't hear you."

Chris stepped close, wanting to take a closer look at what Tom was interested in, but Tom grabbed his hand and pulled him away quickly.

"Find what you needed?"

Chris turned, catching the name of the company that made the polish. "Uh, yeah. I found a two for one deal. Babe, you don't want to--." He turned and pointed back at the aisle.

"I'm ready. Let's go."

He let it drop, clearly seeing Tom's discomfort at having been caught looking at nail polish. But he had to know that Chris wouldn't care about something like that, right? Tom could use whatever he wanted on his body and Chris would still carry him above the world. Not wanting to push him, he paid for his items and they walked out of the store.

Sensing the tension radiating off him, Chris tucked the small bag into his back pocket and took Tom by the shoulders.

"Babe."

Tom wouldn't look at him, keeping his gaze on something over his shoulders. Face still red, his eyes watered and Chris stepped close, concerned. Whatever it was had conflicted him greatly, but he had to know that Chris would support him in anything.

Cradling his head, he kissed his lips. "It's ok. Baby, I love you. I love you." He crowded him against the wall and hugged him, Tom's arms coming up to wrap around him. He trembled, but no tears fell, only gathered in his eyes, soaking his eyelashes.

"I love you, too," he breathed and practically went limp with relief in his arms.

**

The movie was something Tom had wanted to see. It was about a father whose two daughters were kidnapped, resulting in a town-wide police search. It was suspenseful enough, with an eerie lost-in-the-woods feel added to the terror of child abuse that had Tom inching his way toward Chris before long, snaking his arm under his, clenching his wrist after a close call between the hero and the killer. He jumped a few times, the music loud and sudden, but it was obvious he was enjoying it. Chris leaned into him and laced their fingers together, smiling at Tom, who rested his head on his shoulder.

Later, in his car, in their private corner of the parking lot at the mall, Tom moved his lips over Chris's neck, the other moaning and angling his head to give him room. His pulse throbbed just beneath Tom’s lips and he licked a stripe up the length of the vein there, nearly delirious with the way Chris trembled.

"Fuck...babe, just like that," he groaned. Tom nipped at the tender skin beneath his ear, his hands curving around his waist, pulling him closer. Lying awkwardly in the front seat, they laughed when the buckle of the seat belt jammed into Tom’s spine.

Their whispers were loud in the confined space.

“There’s no room!”

“Hang on, let me just—.”

“Oh god, don’t move…please.”

“Tom, I swear to god—.”

Chris ended up sliding his seat as far back as it would go and Tom climbed into his lap, resting their heads together. He played with Chris’s hair, goose bumps sprouting along his skin as Tom kissed his temple.

“Jason was in drama yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“He caught me putting concealer on my bruise.”

“What! Why?”

Tom laughed. “Well, we had to perform our scenes in front of the class and I didn’t want my bruise visible in those bright lights.” He paused, fingers skimming down the front of Chris’s sweatshirt. “Naturally, he asked me how I got it.”

Staying quiet, Chris waited.

“I told him. He seemed really angry about it. But like he didn’t want me to see just how much.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel some kind of rift is happening between them.”

“He’s all the better for it,” Chris whispered, squeezing him round the middle. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he sighed, as Chris inched him higher up his chest, their mouths meeting in a warmth that drove off the chill gathering along the edges of the windows and seeping into their bunched clothing.

**

Two weeks passed in a dizzying blur and the end of the semester was fast approaching. Tom sat in Chris’s car after school, biting his thumbnail in a rare display of cold feet. Opening night was in one week. He and Jason had met several times during the weekends to finalize their lines. Chris would drop Tom off at Jason’s house and pick him up when he was ready. On one of their drives home, Chris asked him what Jason’s room was like.

“I think it tells a lot about a person,” he said in reply to Tom’s amused glare.

“Uh huh, sure. Well, it’s very neat. He has a twin bed with a bookshelf and a bureau drawer. Funnily, there’s no mirror in his room.”

“Oh my. I think we both know what that means.”

“Vampire?” they said simultaneously.

Now, he waited for Chris to get out of practice. Night had fallen even though it was barely past 6PM. Tom watched the empty parking lot, still trying to shake the creeps he’d felt at seeing Shaw come out the front entrance of the school a little while ago. Tom had scrambled into the car and slunk low in the seat, tracking Shaw with his eyes. He seemed to be whistling, typing something into this cell phone. Bothering yet some other person poor soul, Tom thought. 

After Shaw had left, Tom considered going into the gym, but he didn’t want to walk in mid-practice. Drama had run a bit late so he risked the walk to the car and decided to wait there. He couldn’t imagine what Chris was thinking about where he might be.

Sending him a quick text, Tom relaxed against the seat and watched raindrops blot his view of the school.

Before long, the side door banged open and Chris ran out. He jogged to the car and visibly relaxed when he saw Tom in the driver’s seat.

Climbing in the other side, he tossed his sopping bags in the backseat and pulled Tom into a hug.

“Jesus, Tom. When you didn’t come in, I thought—.”

“No. I’m fine. I’m sorry. Drama ran late and didn’t want to interrupt anything, so I just came out here.”

Chris was soaked, his clothes and skin weeping with rain water.

“Did you go home? Have you been here the whole time?” Chris pulled back and took his face in both hands.

“No. And Yes.”

Chris sighed. “Tom. I don’t think you should do that. You’re like a sitting duck.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to worry you, but I didn’t feel comfortable slipping into the gym once you began practice. And Shaw left almost immediately. No one’s been around the whole time.”

Running a hand through his loose hair, Chris clenched his jaw and nodded. “Alright. I—.” He stopped, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to come off sounding like a controlling boyfriend, but I just don’t like not knowing where you are.”

Tom smiled. “I don’t like not knowing where you are either. But we have our very specific reasons for feeling that way. Had our circumstances been different, we wouldn’t feel so paranoid about each other’s safety.” He looked him up and down. “You didn’t shower?”

Chris tossed his head back in a lazy laugh. “You trying to say I smell?”

“No! I just…you always shower and today I can tell you didn’t. You’re…stickier.”

Chris took his chin and kissed the spot where the bruise used to shine darkly. “I’ll show you sticky, Thomas,” he whispered, and Tom shivered. “But I had to come see if you were okay. Now I really want a shower.”

Tom laughed. “I’m sorry. I will take blame for this one.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, love.”

Chris smiled and leaned close to his ear. “I made captain.”

Tom’s face lit up. “You did! Congratulations!” He jumped across the seat and into his arms, Chris grunting as his sore limbs pulled painfully. But he caught him in his lap and they kissed for a long moment.

Tom pulled back, breathless. “Mmm, my Christopher. Oh, but tell me what Eric did.”

Chris shrugged. “Nothing. What could he do? But he bore a hole in the back of my head as I ran out of the gym when coach released us.”

Tom cupped his cheek. “Oh, my poor baby, worried about me when you should have been celebrating.”

“But I am celebrating.” He touched Tom’s chest, just above his heart. “Right here with you.”

**

It was the last weekend before opening night and Jason and Tom planned a last run through at Jason’s house. Chris pulled up to the curb and Tom grabbed his copy of the book and the script full of his and Jason’s scribbles.

“Want me to come in with you?” Chris asked, feigning innocence.

Tom shook his head and poked Chris in the ribs. “Stop it, you. I’ll text you when I’m ready.”

He leaned over and gave Chris a peck on the lips.

“Mmm, give me another one,” Chris pleaded.

“Alright!” he sighed, laughing. He kissed him again and their lips lingered together. “I love you,” he whispered. “Don’t forget about me!” he called as he climbed out and slammed the door.

Chris watched him knock on the front door. Jason answered and Tom disappeared inside. He put the car in gear. “Not possible with you,” he whispered, smiling.

**

They’d gone over each of their scenes and had finally collapsed to the floor, exhausted but happy.

“I’m really excited about this,” Jason said, rubbing his neck and glancing at their script.

“I am too. And our costumes look great. So that gives me confidence, too.”

Jason looked at him. “Tom, you do know how amazing you are, right?”

Tom met his eyes and shrugged. He enjoyed it, yes, but apart from his own love for the energy that emanated from the darkened audience and his interaction with the words and his co-stars, he didn’t like to toot his own horn.

“Well, you are. You really have nothing to worry about. Opening night will be amazing for us.”

Downstairs, the doorbell rang and they quieted, hearing Jason’s mother talking to someone. And then loud footsteps hurried up the stairs. Jason frowned, clearly unsure of who it might be.

The door to his bedroom burst open and they both tensed, staring at the newcomer, who stood in stunned silence.

It was Eric.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make a special announcement....I FINALLY HAVE AN OFFICIAL BETA!!! I am so excited and honored and flabbergasted and so very lucky to have you.
> 
> She is the lovely duskyhuedladysatan and I cannot say enough wonderful things about her. She is absolutely everything I could ever ask for in a beta and friend. Thank you so very much for all your help and patience, your advice and encouragement. May our fangirling never end. *hugs you tightly* 
> 
> To my readers: please enjoy this new chapter. It's a little bit longer for your enjoyment ;-)
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to you, my Dusky <3

After dropping Tom off at Jason's house, Chris headed to the barber shop. His hair was the longest it'd ever been; he'd taken to wearing it up in a bun or ponytail everyday and for games. It got in his way when he slept or when wisps of it fell loose during practice. But all the trouble of maintaining it was worth every moment when Tom would fold himself close and stick his nose in Chris's hair, his hands coming up to scratch lightly at his scalp, massaging his head, pulling just slightly, enough that it would give Chris chills every time. It always guaranteed Chris an erection, something Tom absolutely delighted in. Chris would practically purr when he saw the look on Tom's face, and he would just rest his head on Tom's lap and let those dexterous fingers turn him into putty.

Knowing Tom liked it long, he'd only get a trim to make it more manageable. But when his barber turned Chris around on the swivel chair after he was finished with the cut, his eyes widened. Blond clumps of hair littered the floor. Was that all his? He barely heard the plastic gown snapping away from his body, shaking loose any remaining hair.

On his way home, he kept running his fingers through it, wondering if it was too short. The thick strands curled just under his ears. The barber had cut at least three inches, but if felt like twice that.

It would grow back in no time.

His parents were out when Chris pulled up to the driveway. All the better, for what he had planned.

Safe in his room, he pulled out his laptop and opened a browser. He stared at it for a solid two minutes, wondering how to best research anal sex.

Should he just watch some videos online? But those sites always jumped to intercourse. They didn't show the actual build up to sex, or the best techniques to make it as comfortable as possible for his partner. Things always advanced from two seconds of fully clothed kissing to hard pounding in the next scene. He was fairly confident it took more than that to ensure one’s partner enjoyed the experience too.

He figured stretching was the key. He'd seen that word casually thrown around online.

Trying to remain indifferent, Chris clicked around some links, nervous to focus too much on what he was seeing. Even though the idea of greeting Tom in his car with a raging erection held appeal for Chris, possible embarrassment kept him focused on the mechanics of what the people on screen were doing, rather than letting himself get too aroused.

After exiting some clips that showed more or less the same content, he found a soft core site that showed more foreplay than the mainstream sites featured. Those always went right to the point.

There was a lot of kissing, petting, cuddling and moaning. Lots of moaning.

Chris swallowed, glancing up at his bedroom door. He plugged in his earphones, self-conscious about the sounds even though he knew the house was empty.

The couple moved from the sofa to a bed and one man started moving his hand lower on his partner's body, caressing and squeezing. Chris sat up. They took their time unbuttoning shirts and lowering jeans, never once breaking their kiss. Chris took note of how their hands moved slowly, the pressure gentle and reassuring, guiding his partner to lie down, encouraging him with small whispers, kind of dirty, but not insulting. It was hot. It all added to the flame licking up Chris’s abdomen. A large amount of lube was poured onto the man's entrance. Chris gawked. There was so much of it. Would they really need that much?

Based on how… _appreciative_ the man sounded as he groaned and opened his legs wide, Chris figured that yes, that much was needed. Fingers smoothed over the guy’s entrance, pressing in, slowly, slowly. Massaging it. More kissing and nuzzling, whispers, smiles. He heard the word ‘relax’ more than once, and made another mental note. They would both be nervous, he knew that. But anticipation is just as sweet, and he thought Tom was beginning to discover this. It wouldn’t help if Tom was a tight wire of tension. The kissing and the cuddling and the whispers would help him, hopefully.

Chris took a deep breath, wondering how much Tom would open up for him. He would be hesitant, but he'd been showing so much more interest lately, beginning to reach out to Chris first, anxious to initiate contact. Maybe they should watch some of these videos together, like Tom had suggested?

Now the man with his legs spread wide cried out, his partner murmuring to him softly. Chris narrowed his eyes. It was only his partner’s fingers inside him still. Why the big reaction? But the man was writhing, his cock engorged, hips undulating on the fingers pumping into him, moaning to please don't stop.

Before things got too heated, Chris shut his laptop and checked his phone. Still no call or text from Tom. It had been nearly two hours. But his rehearsals with Jason, or practice sessions, or whatever they were called, usually took about that long, so he could wait a bit more.

With opening night looming closer, he knew Tom and Jason would want to concentrate on working out every minute detail.

And Chris was excited too. All the other times he’d attended a play, he and Tom hadn’t known each other. Tom hadn’t known how fixed Chris’s attention was on him, how he studied his every move, the way his voice rose in volume, so contradictory to the way Tom was in actuality. Tom would blossom under those stage lights, face bright and shoulders back, so at ease under the glare. He hoped his presence in the audience wouldn’t bother Tom. He’d ask him about it later.

Either way, Chris knew he had to shop for condoms and lube. That was step number one. Lube would help him loosen Tom. It would ease most of the pain. They just had to remember to relax. _Chris_ had to remember to relax, and to help Tom relax. He didn't want him to experience any discomfort. Or regret. 

He slumped down onto the floor and turned on his television, flipping to a professional basketball game, thumbs smoothing over the face of his phone.

**

"Eric."

That one word was laden with Jason's surprise. He rose to his feet almost too slowly. Tom stayed where he was, his lower back pressed against the frame of Jason's bed. Their shock at seeing Eric burst into the room was quickly dissolving into a heavy unease, each locked in his own thoughts about the other two people in the room, what they knew and what the others didn't know.

"What the fuck is this?" Eric's voice was soft. Disbelieving. Angry. His finger pointed crookedly at Tom, as if Jason could have been mistaken as to whom he'd been referring.

"You know Tom, Eric. Why the silly questions." Jason smiled easily, slipping his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, casual, unbothered. "We're in Drama together," he explained when Eric said nothing.

Eric’s eyes were locked on Tom. He was about to take a small step toward him but Jason stepped between.

“Did you need something? Tom and I are busy working on something. If you want, we can talk later.” He tried to usher Eric closer to the door, but Eric shook him off, pointing at Tom again.

“You’ve been avoiding me for months and all of a sudden you’re friends with this fucking fairy?”

“Hey,” Jason said, voice low, “quit your shit. Why are you always calling people names? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Eric stared at him for a long moment, and then scoffed, playing it off like it was no big deal.  “Nothing, man. Nothing is wrong with me. Because no matter what might have been going on, I know you don’t care. Not after all these times I’ve invited you places only for you to bail on me over and over.”

Tom was sitting quietly against Jason’s bed and nightstand, watching with wide eyes as Jason closed his eyes guiltily, hands resting on his hips.

“Look, I’m sorry about that. But I’ve had a lot to deal with these past few months. With school and drama and—.”

“ _You_ _’ve_ had shit to deal with?” Eric said, voice rising, and Tom felt distinctly forgotten as Eric took another step toward Jason, his hands fisting. “You have no idea. Not since you came back and decided to spend all your time in that fucking theater and with—.” He faltered and then gestured at Tom. “With that goddamn fagg—.”

Jason jumped forward and took Eric by the collar of his shirt. “Shut your mouth. You don’t know anything about him. He’s been more of a friend to me than you have.”

Eric sneered, hands gripping Jason’s forearms hard. He pushed and Jason stumbled. “That’s a hell of a thing to say to me.”

A tense moment went by before Eric shot forward, fist curled for a punch. Jason dodged and tackled him around the waist, both dropping to the floor.

Tom gasped and curled his legs tighter into himself, watching in horror as they wrestled angrily, grunting in pain. A lamp toppled to the floor, kicked by one of their legs.

He glanced at the door, sure that their scuffle would be heard by Jason’s mother any second.

But before either could land a solid blow, Jason pinned Eric face down beneath him, both breathing hard.

“Get off me,” Eric growled, face pressed against the carpet.

“Not until you tell me what the hell happened to you that made you into such an asshole.” He leaned down, glaring at Eric. “Don’t think I don’t know that it goes beyond your bigoted hate speech and drunken idiocy. You weren’t like that before. And then you go and assault Tom and Chris? What were you thinking?”

Eric laughed, a wheezing sound that was more wounded than amused. Tom was suddenly reminded of the blow Chris landed on Eric’s chest and he wondered how that had healed.

“So he told you, did he? Typical.”

“He didn’t have to. You think I wouldn’t see the bruise on his face?

“Well fuck him and Hemsworth. They deserved it.”

“How!” Jason shouted, twisting Eric’s arm a little further up. Eric hissed and struggled beneath him before finally falling quiet.

“Yeah, you have no reason.” Jason eased up a bit, but kept his hold on Eric’s arms. “You can’t solve everything with violence. That’s your first instinct for everything.”

Jason released him and they scrambled up, standing feet apart, staring at each other.

Tom thought desperately of something to say, to make things better, but decided to keep quiet, somehow knowing that this was a conversation for Jason and Eric alone.

“Just…” Jason sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Just tell me what’s been going on,” he said, a little more softly, inching himself in front of Tom. There was a slightly awkward tone to his voice, proof of how long it had been since either he or Eric talked about something this personal.

Eric straightened his shirt angrily. “Just forget it,” he said, turning to the door.

Tom sat stunned. He’d never seen Eric back down from a fight so fast. He was always so eager to confront him and Chris, instigating, circling. But at the first sign of resistance from Jason, he wanted out. Tom’s heart fell. Their friendship must have been very strong before they began to drift apart.

“No,” Jason whispered, catching Eric’s elbow in one hand. Eric froze. “You can tell me. What happened? What’s going on?”

Eric looked away, resigned. There was still tension radiating off him, anger that pulsed just beneath the surface, pulling his brows low in a permanent scowl. That anger seemed to stem from something distinctly internal, metastasizing into a malignancy he now carried with him everywhere. 

“Not in front of him,” Eric said, not even bothering to tilt his head in Tom’s direction.

“It’s okay,” Tom whispered, starting to rise. “I can just leave now.” He pulled his phone from his pocket.

“No, no,” Jason said, waving a hand at Tom. “You don’t have to leave. Eric and I will just go into the next room.”

“It’s really not a problem, Jason,” Tom said, gathering his book and script from the floor. “Chris is probably expecting me by now.”

Jason sighed and then nodded. “I’ll walk you out.” He turned to Eric. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

Eric stood off to the side, arms crossed. He nodded and turned away from them, dismissing Tom as if he weren’t even there.

At the door, Jason shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry about that. I never expected he would come here today or else I would have asked to meet somewhere else.”

Tom shrugged. “You didn’t know. He’s a bit unpredictable.”

He laughed quietly. “Yeah. You could say that. But anyway. I’ll text you later. Chris on his way?”

“Yes,” Tom lied.

“Good.” Much to Tom’s surprise, Jason hugged him tightly and then let him go. As Tom walked out, Jason called out to him. “You were great today, Tom.”

Tom murmured his thanks, fighting the blush that always crept up at any kind of praise. 

Jason smiled and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

He started down the street, his sweater pulled close around him. Fishing out his phone, he text Chris.

_Pick me up at the gas station on 6 th and Rosemont?_

His phone beeped a second later.

_What happened??_

Tom smiled and typed a response.

_I_ _’m fine. Please don_ _’t worry. Eric showed up & they argued. I left b/c they needed to talk. _

_I_ _’ll be right there._

He huddled inside the store, hoodie over his head, book tucked under his arm, chewing on a bag of gummy bears he’d bought with the small change in his pocket. He immediately liked the cherry and sour apple flavors but tossed the grape and orange flavors into the bin next to him.

Chris’s black car turned into the parking lot and Tom walked out into the cold evening air to meet him.

Jumping out of the car, Chris, wearing a beanie with jeans and a sweatshirt, jogged up to him. “What, why, how, and when?”

Tom laughed and slumped into his arms, that big body warming him instantly. “I’ll tell you in the car.”

**

They went for a hot fudge sundae and Tom told Chris about what happened at Jason's house. Sitting in a corner booth, the shop deserted, Tom pressed against the large window with Chris at his side, their spoons clinked together as they shared their ice cream.

"I mean, I can imagine Eric isn't the kind of person who will wait around for an answer when he can just go get it. He got tired of Jason blowing him off and..." Chris whistled, shaking his head. He leaned forward and kissed the corner of Tom's mouth where a tiny bit of ice cream was smudged.

Tom held still for him, and then nodded. "Seems like it. I felt really bad, though. It was such an...intimate...argument. Like it should have happened in private. I felt out of place." He shrugged as Chris wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

A harsh wind had started up outside. The windowpane rattled with the force of it. Tom shivered and Chris yanked the beanie from his head, pulling it snugly over Tom's curls.

Tom's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

Chris froze. "What?"

Tom pointed. "Your hair."

Chris remembered and blushed red. "Oh yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling exposed and chapped without his long strands. "I had it cut after I dropped you off. But he cut too much. I told him only a trim and when I turned around--."

Tom shushed him and twisted in his seat, his fingers folding around Chris's ears, curling over the nape of his neck and back up to the crown of his head, carding through his hair.

"I like it," he said, smiling wide, playing with the length. "I know it was starting to bother you, so I'm glad you did it. And anyway," he said, brushing his lips over Chris's cheek to his ear, hand fisting in his hair. "I can still grab it if I want."

The blood in his body froze and Chris pulled back to look Tom in the face. Those blue eyes were wide with mischief and almost triumph, knowing the effect he had on Chris. The longer he stared the wider Tom's pupils became.

Chris growled and pulled him close, attacking his neck in tiny kisses and playful bites.

Tom gasped and started laughing, shying away, his back bumping against the freezing windowpane.

"Ow!" he said smiling, and Chris pulled him close.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing his nose, big hands running over Tom's shoulder blades. "You okay?"

"Yes," Tom said breathlessly. "But I'm cold."

"Let's go."

Chris tossed back the cup from their sundae, swallowing the melted ice cream in one gulp. Tom watched his throat work and bit his lip, taking Chris's jaw and kissing him fast, their tongues winding, soft vanilla and chocolate fudge flooding his senses so that he moaned and forgot everything but Chris.

**

It was as Chris was pulling into Tom's driveway that his phone beeped.

"It's Jason," he murmured, reading the message. "Asks if he can stop by."

Chris shut the ignition off. "Think it's about Eric?"

"Don't know. Would you like to stay?"

"I always want to stay."

Tom smiled. "Flatterer." He replied to Jason, letting him know he was home and could come by whenever.

"I mentioned you were here, so no surprises," he said as they sat on the floor in front of his television. Chris took his hand, bringing it up to his chest as he always liked to do ever since that first day on the grass in front of the school, when Shaw saw them together during his smoke break.

It was only a little while after that Tom's mother shouted up the stairs. "Visitor for you, Tom!"

"Okay!"

A minute later there was a knock on his door and Jason poked his head in.

"Come in," Tom said, both he and Chris standing.

"Hey," Jason said, closing the door behind him. He nodded at Chris, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Sit wherever,” Tom said, gesturing to his desk chair or the floor, picking up some books stacked by the end of the bed. Chris sat on Tom’s bed, following Jason’s movements with his eyes. He took a pillow and folded it over his stomach, Tom’s scent faint in his nostrils.

Jason took the chair while Tom sat at the foot of the bed, lowering the volume to the television. He cleared his throat.

“Is everything okay?”

Jason nodded, fiddling with his shoelace. “Yeah. I’m just…I don’t know what to make of any of it.”

Tom frowned. “You mean about Eric?”

“Yes. He told me some things. And now I feel terrible for staying away for long, but I had no idea. I was still, I guess I still am, trying to cope with what had happened to me, and Drama just helped me deal with it. And I didn’t see how he resented that. But I honestly didn’t feel like going to many of the places he invited me. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with him; it was that I didn’t think anyone would understand and I had no way to explain myself. And I was always so tired just thinking about it, all that small talk.” He rubbed his face.

Tom stayed quiet, letting Jason talk through whatever was on his mind. Sometimes that was the only way someone could help. He glanced at Chris, who sat back against his headboard, a pillow still hugged to his stomach. He shrugged and started biting at his thumbnail. Chris was pretty sure that the conversation hadn’t gone well. From the way Jason’s shoulders slumped, the tightness around his mouth, the way his eyes darted up to Tom’s face every few seconds, something round and yearning was hidden just behind them. Maybe he was feeling vulnerable because of his argument with Eric. Chris could warrant him that. Either way, he fisted his hands and stretched his leg out, shoe nudging the side of Tom’s knee.

Unconsciously, Tom rested his hand on Chris’s ankle, looking across at Jason, who was staring down at the carpet. “What did he say?” he asked softly.

Jason let his head rest back, eyes on the ceiling. In a monotone voice, he explained.

“He told me that his dad left him and his mother just after I’d moved away. Supposedly, there had been problems going on for a while, domestic stuff. I think he hit her a few times. Anyway, he left. It wasn’t long before Eric’s mom started seeing other men. Lots of them. She’d bring them home and there would be drinking and he could hear them having sex and arguing. He started not coming home, staying out. And she wouldn’t notice. He seemed particularly hurt about that.” He shrugged and rested his chin on one hand. “With all the partying he does and the drinking, don’t ask me how he’s keeping up his grades or performing well enough to play ball. I’m surprised I got anything out of him at all.”

Tom took a deep breath, understanding Jason’s dilemma. “But you can’t blame yourself for this. Eric’s been angry for a long time. Look how he lashes out. You told him yourself. He resorts to violence and bigotry and homophobia because those are easy things to feel, to let wash over you, to hide what’s really inside.” He bit his lip, thinking. “His problem seems to be internal. Both within his home, where things are kept private, and within himself.”

“He’s probably ashamed,” Chris said, his low voice surprising Tom. “He didn’t want to open up to you and when he finally got the nerve to approach you, he found you with Tom, hanging out as friends, when he’d felt friendless for so long.”

Jason eyed him, narrowed his eyes with a bit of suspicion. Or maybe denial. But then he nodded.

“You’re right. He sounds so jaded and afraid and uses all that hate to be tough. But he’s hurt inside and confused by his situation at home. And I let him down.”

He sighed and stood, walking to the door.

Tom watched him go. “But what happened? Are you two okay now? Did you…did you tell him about Shaw?”

Jason shrugged. “Didn’t get a chance. I told him about being, you know, bi. He just stared at me for the longest time. Then turned away and left.” Jason kept his eyes on the floor, one hand gripping the door handle. He shrugged and smiled sadly.

“But,” Tom said, taking a few steps toward him, desperate for something to say. “That doesn’t mean he won’t come around. He’s had so many surprises dropped on him and we all know how he reacts. You were so close before,” he said quietly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Nodding at Chris, Jason turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Tom dropped his hands and turned to Chris. “Well then.”

He draped himself alongside Chris, hugging him round the middle. His heartbeat was loud in Tom’s ears. He hoped his own heartbeat learned to sync with his. They lay quiet like that until Tom’s mother called them down to dinner.

**

Opening Night found Tom backstage an hour before curtain call, arms lifted for the makeup student, who was applying a dirty brown paint over his naked torso. Beside him, Jason was receiving the same treatment. Trying not to squirm away from the bristled paint brush, Tom wondered if it tickled Jason too. But Jason was holding very still.

They hadn’t talked about the fallout from Jason and Eric’s conversation the previous weekend. Tom realized there might not be much to discuss. At school, Jason had simply clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder and shaken his head, letting Tom know in that simple gesture that he didn’t want to talk about it. And that Jason and Eric certainly hadn’t broached the subject again.

Chris reported that Eric had been more violent than usual at practice, blocking brutishly, rebounding with flying elbows. It was excessive enough that their coach took him aside reminding him to save it for the opponent, and not rain abuse on his own teammates.

Now, he and Jason were sixty minutes from performing and Tom had a swarm of butterflies loose in his stomach.

Had he been asked months ago how he’d feel appearing shirtless in front of a full house, or anyone for that matter, Tom would have said _terrified_. He was self-conscious about being thin and bony, about not being as strong as other boys. But it was like Chris had told him early in their relationship, when Tom would shy away, gasping in shame when Chris’s broad hands started sweeping up his back beneath the shirt he wore: “It’s hard for us, sometimes, to see ourselves as others see us. I wish you could see how beautiful you are to me.”

As he prepared to walk out half naked in front of countless strangers, those words came back to him, curling over his self-consciousness, snuffing it out.

“You look great, Tom,” Jason said quietly, skimming a finger over Tom’s shoulder.

“Thank you. So do you,” Tom said. And he did. Jason was also shirtless, wearing brown leather trousers and covered in elegant grime, but where Tom had glitter spread over the smears of dirt, Jason had two large green circles painted to look like tattoos on his skin, one on his left shoulder and the other on the right side of his waist. They both wore soft leather boots that laced up to their knees, billowing the bottoms of their trousers. Around their waists were lines of rope dyed and belted to look like vines from the forest.

Jason had been growing out a beard for weeks now, and it was dusted just perfectly over his jaw and cheeks to look casual and not forced. He wore a crown of twined pale blond wood, twisted and delicate, appearing stark and regal in his dark hair.

Tom’s face was clean shaven. Even though his beard grew in thin anyway, he took care to shave closely that afternoon, since his character was supposed to be spritely and innocent, almost childlike. He closed his eyes as the makeup student applied golden glitter in half moon swirls that curved from beneath his eyes up to the crown of his head, disappearing into his hair, and down his jaw, ending in straight spikes over the front of his neck.

A corded circlet of leather was fitted over his head, from which sprouted small tufted feathers of varying lengths, a becoming halo for his curls.

Their teacher came up to them once their makeup was finished, rubbing his hands excitedly.

“Both good to go?”

They nodded, smiling.

“Great suggestion with the dirt and the earthy tattoos, Jason. You both look radiant! I’m going to make the rounds. Let me know if you need anything.” He squeezed their shoulders affectionately.

Julie came bounding over to them, clad in a crown of green leaves and a gown of purple silk. Glitter sparkled under her eyes, in a pattern similar to Tom’s, and at her bare collarbones.

“Tom! You are gorgeous. Look at you!”

Tom blushed and ducked his head, hand coming up to rub at his elbow self-consciously. “You are the beautiful one, Jules.”

She bowed low. Looking up at Jason, she winked. “See you on stage, my husband.”

Jason watched her dance away with a smile on his face.

“I think she likes you,” Tom whispered.

Tossing him a look, Jason shook his head. “Stop.”

Everyone gathered backstage for a final group hug, whispered wishes of ‘break-a-leg’ and quick kisses echoing in the darkness. And then Jason and Tom huddled behind the curtains off stage right, watching the house lights dim out over the audience as their fellow actors stepped out into the spotlight.

Tom swallowed. Somewhere out there, Chris sat waiting in the dark.

**

Chris arrived early, not missing his chance to snag a good seat. He finally settled in the center of the fourth row from stage, spreading his knees to balance the bouquet of roses he'd bought for Tom.

Slowly, the seats around him began to fill, mostly with eager and proud parents or senior citizens who were out to enjoy a nice evening of amateur theater. He craned his neck, trying to spot Tom’s parents, but he’d yet to see them. Which was for the better, he thought. If he greeted Tom’s parents now, they’d want to sit with him and offer polite small talk. It was nothing against them, but Chris preferred to watch Tom on stage alone.

A few hours ago, he'd dropped Tom off at the stage door, where Tom had grabbed his face and kissed him fast over and over, until he finally pulled away, whispering for Chris to stop, that he had to go in, that he had to concentrate.

Chris had laughed. "I'm literally just standing here. You're the one--."

And then Tom grabbed him in another kiss and they fell against the building, sighing into each other's mouths. When Tom managed to peel himself away and slip into the darkened backstage doors, Chris went home to change and stop by the store for the flowers.

Now, the lights were dimming and a hush fell over the audience as people settled into their seats, silencing phones and bringing out cameras and camcorders. Having heard Tom recite lines for many months now, Chris had an idea what the play was about, but sometimes the Shakespeare talk threw him. But it wasn’t as if his lack of understanding would ruin this night. Chris leaned back, studying the first few actors who pranced out on stage, the scene one of a party of sorts.

He paid them no attention, searching the side curtains for the moment Tom made his appearance.

And when Tom finally did, slinking out from the corner, crouched low to the ground, a wide grin on his face, _mischievous_ was the only way to describe it, Chris was stunned, mouth hanging open.

The other characters continued to act out the scene, oblivious to the uninvited eavesdropper. Tom, or Puck, was hidden behind some green foliage and props designed to look like big boulders. His face rested on folded hands, obvious glee on his face at the amount of information he was receiving.

The front actors quieted and the spotlight shone on Tom alone.

“Lord! What fools these mortals be!” he whispered loudly, fisting his hands in delight. And then he was gone, disappearing into the background.

Chris released his breath, realizing he’d been holding it the entire time Tom was onstage.

Next scene showed Tom and another girl, a fairy, talking quietly on the grass.

“Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,” said the girl. “You do their work, and they shall have good luck: Are not you he?”

Tom smiled wide and placed a hand on his chest over his heart. _“_ Thou speak'st aright;  
I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile.”

There was a strange quality to the way Tom, or rather his character, stared at the other people on stage. It was a wide-eyed gaze, introspective and eerie. He would lean forward, like he wanted to sniff the other person, find out all their secrets from the patterns on their skin.

Watching Tom move so freely, his face wide open in new expressions, Chris realized the liberty Tom had in acting. To be so uninhibited as to immerse yourself in a role, another person entirely different than your own, Chris could understand such love. If he tried hard enough, he could liken that love to athletics and the performance of the body for the ultimate goal of winning.

The premise of the story was a little confusing, but he understood enough to follow. There were fairies and mortals whose stories twisted together, vying for attention, causing unruly chaos because of it. Julie appeared, gorgeous in her purple dress, lying back on a bed of flowers, other girls feeding her grapes and fanning her lazily. She said something about her husband—Oberon, Chris reminded himself—wanting to steal away one of her servants. And then there was a donkey-man? A man with a donkey’s head?

The stage darkened for a long moment and when the lights brightened again, Jason was standing at the front, gazing into the middle distance. He seemed taller, somehow, with his bare chest and leather clad legs, hands clasped behind his back, pensive. He was dirty as Tom was dirty, with markings on his body and a crown of wood.

Hidden from the audience for a moment, Tom stepped out from behind Jason, hand trailing Jason's arm. It was a show of intimacy and familiarity and it made Chris blink fast. The gaze Tom cast Jason was one of adoration, with eyes wide and smile playful.

Chris shifted in his seat.

But it was Jason’s voice that alarmed Chris the most. It was significantly deeper, but not forced, with enough strength to carry over the audience without sounding like he was shouting. Clipped and graceful, his words rang effortlessly. He looked every part the king he was playing.

“And the imperial votaress passed on,” he was saying, hand planted firmly on Tom’s shoulder, walking behind him. Tom’s fingers were folded submissively before him, following Jason with his eyes. “In maiden meditation, fancy-free.”

Jason sank low to the ground, crouched, Tom following him eagerly. They lay on their bellies, the entire stage darkened except for the one spotlight on their glittering forms. Staring off, Jason rose to his elbows and placed a hand on Tom’s back, using the other to gesture as he spoke.

“Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell: it fell upon a little western flower, before milk-white, now purple with love’s wound, and maidens call it Love-in-Idleness.”

He stood fast and pulled Tom to his feet. Clasping his shoulders, Oberon bent his face close to Puck’s, foreheads touching, a pale hand coming up to caress Tom’s head, the feathers rustling softly. Hand trailing Tom’s chest, fingers cresting over his collarbones, he whispered excitedly for Tom to find that flower and bring it to him. Tom’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned forward, resting his head on Jason’s shoulder in a loose embrace.

Chris swallowed and glanced around nervously, checking reactions. From what he could tell, everyone was rapt with attention.

But Chris froze when he saw a person walking with bent head up the aisle. He took a seat at the far end of the row just in front of Chris, sinking low in his seat, eyes fastened on Jason and Tom.

It was Shaw.

Chris watched with mounting anger as Shaw’s eyes refused stray from Tom for the duration of the play. They lingered on Jason as well, especially the scenes where Jason and Tom stood closely together, Tom always touching a part of Jason’s body, his hip, his elbow, his chin resting on Jason’s shoulder from behind, their hands sometimes linked for entire minutes, but it was too dark to read the expression on Shaw’s face or what kind of effect it might be having on him.

Chris almost leapt out of his seat when Shaw jerked at the sound of Tom’s laughter, so sharp and loud and _fake._ Chris felt enormous privilege and pride to know Tom’s genuine laugh, that what Shaw heard and got obvious pleasure from, was not real at all.

A bitter satisfaction rose in his chest at the thought. 

It didn’t stop him from realizing that the sick fuck would probably go home and jerk off to memories of Tom and Jason on stage. His hands clenched, making the plastic holding Tom’s flowers crackle loudly.

The show was nearing its end. Tom appeared under the spotlight alone, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his head resting on one fist, casual and unhurried.

“If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear.”

As the lights began to dim, Tom’s smile grew slowly to an almost horrifying show of dangerous innocence before the entire auditorium was cast in shadows.

Applause rose from all corners and Chris stood up, joining in, ignoring Shaw for a moment to see the cast line up together and take their bow. Tom and Jason stood to the far right, waving and smiling wide. They joined hands with the rest of the group and bowed one last time before the house lights turned on and they disappeared backstage.

Chris turned, his height allowing him to look over the heads of everyone else to see that Shaw had already left.

**

Tom and Jason stumbled backstage, laughing and blushing red.

“Holy shit, it was hot out there,” Jason said, wiping his brow. Their bodies were glistening with sweat, their makeup smeared but still thick on their skin.

“The lights,” Tom said smiling, flicking some glitter off his wrist. It was hopeless. He would need a dozen showers and a thick rag to remove it all.

“You were wonderful,” Jason said, wrapping him in a hug. “Truly wonderful. Thank you for being such an amazing partner.”

Tom blinked fast, blushing. But before he could reply, a squeal rose up and Julie came bounding around the corner, leaping onto Jason’s back with a laugh.

He grunted and nearly toppled over but bore her weight, his hands wrapping around her slim calves.

“We did it!” she said, hugging Jason around his chest, cheek pressed to his neck. Tom smiled and started backing away. He nodded at Jason, who winked at him before turning and whispering something in Julie’s ear.

“Yes, I’m starved!” she said, sliding down to her feet. Jason took her hand and they slipped behind one of the drapes.

Tom was greeted by his parents, both of whom congratulated him, his mother showering him with kisses.

“Where’s Chris?” she asked, looking around expectantly.

“He must be somewhere in the auditorium still,” he said.

His parents invited them to dinner, but he declined, saying he would wait for Chris because there was a party at one of the makeup student’s houses and he and Chris planned on going. Whether or not they actually went would stay between him and Chris.

“Well, _I_ still expect to be taken to dinner,” his mother said, winking at his father. They left and Tom began heading toward the class-room-turned-dressing-room for some makeup remover.

But then his eyes caught on someone by the stage door. Someone tall and dressed in slacks with a button down shirt, his blond hair combed back, red roses clutched in one hand.

“Christopher,” he whispered.

Chris walked up to him, smiling a little bashfully. He held the flowers out to Tom, who took them in hand.

“These are for you,” he said. “You were…amazing out there.”

Despite his obvious focus on Tom, Chris seemed reserved and hesitant, his hands falling to his sides once Tom accepted the bouquet.

"Thank you," Tom whispered, unable to stop the wide smile that spread his lips. He bent his head and breathed in the sweet scent.

"You seem so...otherworldly," Chris said, eyes fastened on him.

"Is that why you haven't touched me yet?" Tom asked, looking up at him under his eyelashes, keeping his nose close to the flowers.

Chris groaned and grabbed him up in a hard hug, _finally_. Tom whimpered against his neck, smelling his cologne, roses hanging limply at his side.

"I want you alone," Chris murmured, the feathers of Tom's crown tickling his face.

"Yes," Tom said, nodding. "Let me just take some of this makeup off. I'll have to wait to shower until I get home, but I can scrub my face in the dressing room."

Chris released him and he hurried off, searching for wipes and makeup remover. After he felt scrubbed raw, he examined his face in a small mirror, saw flecks of glitter still clinging to his skin, but he gave up and changed into jeans and a pull-over sweater. Saying goodbye to the few remaining cast members and crew, giving and receiving a whirlwind of compliments, he located Chris and took his hand, pulling them out the door and into the cold night.

The backseat of Chris's car was snug and warm with their body heat. They lay together, Chris partially on Tom, his mouth sucking a bruise on Tom's neck. And because he never could resist, Chris bit down, feeling Tom’s pulse jump beneath his tongue.

He groaned and Tom arched his back, fingers grappling to unbutton his jeans. He pushed jeans and boxers down and took Chris's hand, moving it to cup his cock.

Tom moaned at the touch and Chris released him to look down, the heat shocking him.

"I--I want to Chris. I do. But we n-need things and I don't want it t-to be in the back of your car, but I would really love you to... _please_...do what you did before...with your finger?"

Looking down at him, Chris saw his eyes were bright and wide, small dots of glitter still sparkling on his face. Chris could only imagine flecks were already stuck to his own mouth from kissing Tom’s neck.

He nodded and Tom blinked slowly in relief.

Chris was lifting a finger to his mouth when Tom snatched his wrist. "Let me."

He swallowed his index finger whole, wet and squirming tongue moving over his long digit so that Chris's cock swelled fast and painfully.

"Fuck, Tom," he groaned, riveted by the look and feel of Tom sucking his finger, cheeks hollow and sharp. He pressed down with his hips, earning a groan from both of them.

Tom smiled and let up. "I've watched some videos on my own." Then he took his finger in his mouth once more, the sharp drag of teeth on his knuckle making his vision swim.

Chris gawked, not having known Tom was watching porn too, specifically for the purpose of learning instead of a quick orgasm.

Tom widened his legs, knee propped on the armrest of the front seat, limited in the cramped space.

Chris took his dripping finger and pressed it to Tom's entrance, meeting immediate resistance.

"It's okay," he whispered, resting their foreheads together, Tom shaking beneath him. He worked him slowly, until eventually his finger slipped in to the second knuckle. Tom was sweating, fingers clutching his shirt, a hand clamped to the back of his neck, holding him close.

"There you are," he murmured, kissing Tom's temple, moving his finger in and out slowly. Gasping, Tom's hips jolting in quick movements, they writhed quietly.

"You're so fucking tight," Chris groaned, feeling Tom's sphincter contract and pull at his finger.

Tom whined and then seized, crying out.

Chris froze. "Did I hurt you?"

"No!" Tom gasped. "No. Do it...again. Do it again, Christopher."

Pushing in as far as his finger could go, he was lost as to what he was supposed to do again, but he kept thrusting and pressing the pad of his finger to Tom's inner walls.

Tom cried out again, hands scrabbling to hold on, fingers tight on Chris's shoulders. Had he touched something inside him...that felt...really good? He pressed that spot again and rubbed gently, watching as Tom's eyes rolled to the back of his head. And then he was coming hard, cock jumping against his pelvis, strings of sticky come bursting out and dribbling down his length.

He made no sound apart from a tiny whimper before going limp in Chris's arms.

"Tom? Baby, are you okay?"

He pulled his finger out gently, wiping it on his pant leg and tenderly took Tom's face in his hands.

"Hey. Tom. Baby, wake up."

Tom blinked and opened his eyes, unfocused and confused. Then they sharpened and he tried to sit up, frightened.

"It's me. It's Chris. It's your Chris."

Tom blinked and lay back slowly. "I'm sorry. I must have..."

"Blacked out?" Chris said, smiling.

Tom huffed. "Shut it, you," he whispered, ducking his head, lashes lowered.

"Don't be embarrassed," Chris said softly, bumping their foreheads. "It must have been good for you."

He could feel the heat rising from Tom's face. And then his voice in the dark. "I can't wait until it's you, Christopher." Tom wrapped his arms around Chris, needing him close, so much closer. “I can’t wait until it’s you.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan, for editing and staying up late with me to squeal about these two adorable boys. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are extremely appreciated and welcome. Thank you all for reading <3

Finals were the following week. Chris and Tom didn’t see each other as often those few days, staying holed up in their rooms studying. Chris would text Tom at random times during the night, asking how he was feeling, if he was nervous, that maybe they should get some sleep. Tom would simply smile, because he knew Chris was more worried about their tests than he let on.

“We’re going to be fine,” Tom assured him one evening over Skype. “Just get a good night’s rest, eat breakfast, and stay focused. That’s all.”

“But how can I stay focused when you’re right in front of me with that tank on and your curls all messy and I can’t touch you?”

“Christopher,” Tom whispered, lowering his eyes.

“Right there,” Chris said, touching his screen, his big hand blocking the shot for a second. “I see it. I already know how warm your skin gets. I love it when you blush for me.”

Tom only reddened even more. Chris put a hand on his own chest and winked at him.

Tradition had it that, during the exam for the last period of the day, if a student finished their test before the bell rang, teachers were allowed to let them leave early. Since Chris didn’t have a final period and Tom’s exam grade was his performance in the school play, Tom was able to spend a free hour with Chris before he had to go to practice.

Secreted away in Chris’s car parked in the corner of the lot, he and Tom sat quietly. Tom lay hunched over a textbook, checking the notes he’d made in his binder against the text, one long finger running down the page. Chris stared at him, at the small wrinkle in his brow, the way he rested his head on a closed fist.

He remembered how hard Tom came the night of the play, seizing in his arms, passing out. Chris still wasn’t sure if it was the simple act of penetration, or if he’d done something special to get that kind of reaction. But he knew he wanted to make Tom feel like that again, the fluttering lashes, that tiny whimper before going limp in his arms, the bliss written on his face. 

Pulling out his phone, Chris went to his browser. What would he look up? How would he describe it? Feeling like a damn fool and hoping Tom wouldn’t look over at him, Chris typed ‘male g-spot’, swallowing nervously when over twenty pages of results popped up. Clicking on the first one, he read about ‘prostate stimulation’ and ‘prostate massage’.

Prostate.

He thought back to what they’d learned in Biology that semester, pretty sure his teacher had mentioned something about the prostate during their anatomy lessons. Apparently, the prostate was a small gland that was incredibly sensitive, and could be stimulated from the outside, too, by massaging along the perineum. The website talked about etiquette and hygiene, tips on how to help a partner relax, encouraging the reader to cut, file and clean the fingernails, etc. It suggested running one’s free hand over their partner’s body, and to have open communication, asking them what did or didn’t feel good, or how to curl one’s finger for optimum sensation.

Chris started to sweat. He was about to close out of the browser when Tom spoke softly.

“What are you looking at?”

Chris jumped.

Tom was gazing at him curiously, chin still tucked against the palm of his hand.

“N-nothing. I’m just--.” He shut the screen off and put his phone back in his pocket. “Nothing.”

Tom marked the page in his book and then closed it, tucking it beneath the seat. Scooting across, he shifted closer to Chris, who swallowed loudly. He leaned back a bit, almost afraid to touch Tom, with that small smile on his face, long-fingered hand curling around the steering wheel, cornering him. Tom was so lovely, he had no idea. He really didn’t.

“Now you’re the one who looks skittish,” Tom whispered, blue eyes dancing over his face.

“I-I’m not,” Chris said, clearing his throat.

“Let me see it,” Tom said, indicating the phone in his pocket.

And because Chris had long ago realized he couldn’t deny Tom anything, he reached into his pocket and gave him his phone. Tom flopped back against the seat, still curled up next to him. Smiling at the screen saver, a picture of their joined hands, Tom unlocked his phone.

The browser page was still up. Tom started reading and Chris eyed him nervously.

When Tom looked up a minute later, his eyes were wide. “Milking?" Chris shrugged, half fascinated, half mortified, fully intent on trying it again. "Is this what that was? The other night?”

“I think so.” He blinked and ran a hand through his newly cut hair, still always a bit surprised at how quickly his hand passed through it. “I can’t stop thinking about it. It was…amazing. Watching you come, babe.”

"Tell me," Tom said softly, reaching a hand behind his head, fingers carding through the silky strands.

A bit flustered, Chris looked out the window behind Tom, the glass fogging from their body heat and the cool air outside. Across the parking lot, the soccer pitch lay half frozen, dead yellow grass growing in brittle patches of hard earth.

"You're just," he started, chills erupting over his skin as Tom traced a circle on the back of his neck. "You're just so beautiful. So open. And your body goes super tight, all your muscles straining, your hands on me like you can't get me close enough. Your face and chest get all rosy and...and your lashes. God, the way they flutter. And don't even get me started on the noises you make. Just about drives me insane with want." He stopped, pretty sure he was a bit rosy himself.

Tom touched his face. "I'm so happy you feel that way. It was hard for me to be truly comfortable _letting go_ like that in the beginning, when we first started getting physical. Even before we met, in the year you moved here, you were always such a great influence in my life. I looked up to you, wondered what it would be like to know you, to be your friend. You always looked so happy, with that big smile on your face." He looked down, his hand stilling on Chris's neck. "Coming in front of you for the first time caught me by surprise. I almost didn't expect it. I was a little embarrassed."

Chris turned in his seat and wrapped an arm around Tom's shoulders, hugging him close.

Tom smiled and nestled down. "But all the times after that, seeing how much you loved watching me. It became easier to not be so inhibited. It's really hot, actually."

Chris laughed quietly and kissed his curls. "I do love watching you. It's such a turn on. Especially this last time. I wish I knew what you experienced."

Tom thought for a moment, recalling his body's reactions. "I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. Your finger inside me felt wonderful, like before. But then you brushed something inside and it was...I don't know. Electric. A zap almost. It was really sensitive and the more you nudged at it, the louder my head buzzed and the less I could breathe and my skin felt so tight and I felt like I was going to explode."

He sighed and Chris hugged him tighter.

The alarm on his phone went off and Chris reached over the seat to silence it.

“I have to go now,” he said. “Get changed and start my stretches. You coming in?”

Tom leaned back a bit to give him room. “In a bit, maybe. I want to study some more. I’m still pretty stressed about History tomorrow.” He and Chris had already taken their math final, so that was one less thing to worry about.

Chris kissed his cheek and reached for his gym bag in the backseat. “Don’t be. You’re the smartest person I know. Always cramming random trivia and poetry and all kinds of facts into that pretty head of yours.”

Tom pouted and touched his head self-consciously.

Chris smiled. “Stop. Or I won’t be able to leave. Just come in when you’re ready.”

He gave Tom another quick kiss and left the car, closing the door with a sharp bang. Rapping on the window, he pointed at the handle. “Lock the door!”

“Yes, alright!” Tom said, laughing as he hit the lock button.

Chris smiled and jogged across the parking lot, disappearing into the building through the side entrance.

Tom stifled a yawn and retrieved his textbook from beneath the seat. Hunkering down with his back against the door, he opened to the marked page and started reading, pencil in hand to make notes in the margins.

After about a half hour, his eyes were drooping, heavy with fatigue. He rested his head back against the window and closed his eyes. It was only supposed to be for a minute. Just a minute to ease the ache behind his eyelids, the dryness that made his vision blurry.

Before he knew it, loud knocks were rattling him awake. He sat up in a hurry, his textbook falling to the floor, its broken spine jutting in the air. He blinked, sleep still heavy on his brain. It was darker outside. Maybe an hour had passed, but what had woken him?

Another loud knock made him jump and he twisted in the seat, heart dropping when he saw who was standing outside the door he'd just been sleeping against.

Shaw stood there, knuckles still curled as if to knock on the window again, his smile small and horribly personal. He waved.

"Hi, Tom."

His voice sounded hollow from outside the car. Tom's eyes flashed down to make sure the doors were still locked. He said nothing, only inched across the seat. Where were the keys? His gaze flicked to the ignition, but they weren't there.

Before he could look around for them, Shaw spoke again.

"I came back for some papers in my classroom and I noticed you asleep. Are you okay?"

Tom nodded, hands feeling around behind him, slowly patting the pockets of his jacket.

"Where's uh--Where's Chris?" Shaw asked casually.

And that's when Tom knew. Shaw didn't just come back for papers. He wasn't only checking to see if Tom was okay. This was deliberate. Locating Chris came first. If Shaw knew he was busy and wouldn't be back for a while, what would he do then?

Licking his lips, Tom stammered. "He'll be right back. He forgot his gym bag inside the locker room."

It was strange having a conversation with someone outside of the car, his voice sounding too loud in the closed space, but he wasn't about to open the door or a window.

Shaw frowned, a little too innocently. "Really? Because I've been watching for a while and he hasn't come out in at least an hour."

Tom paled. And Shaw smiled in obvious amusement. He rattled the door handle, looking disappointed to find it locked.

"Why don't you open the door, Tom?"

Mouth dry, Tom shook his head, eyes roving over the dim interior of the car, but the keys were nowhere to be seen.

"Come now, just open the door. I'll wait with you while Chris is busy inside."

"No," Tom whispered, too low for Shaw or anyone to hear. His breathing started to hitch, his hands to shake.

Shaw leaned down, his face pressed close to the window, the tip of his nose smudging the glass. "You were so beautiful in the play, Tom. Standing there under those bright lights, half naked, touching that other boy. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."

"His name is Jason," Tom heard himself say, anger and dread pulsing just beneath his skin. "And you _raped_ him! You're a pervert and a rapist!"

Shaw’s eyes hardened at his words and he straightened from his crouch.

This couldn't be happening. Tom’s eyes darted to the windshield, calculating how long it would take him to run the distance between the car and the gymnasium.

As if anticipating his next move, Shaw turned to the building and sighed dramatically. And then from below Tom's line of sight, he lifted a hand that clutched a large rock.

Tom's eyes widened, shock draining him of all feeling. 

Shaw looked down at the rock and then back at him, a small smile offered in sheepish apology. And then he lifted his arm and brought it down hard on the passenger window. Glass shattered loudly and Tom threw his hands up to guard against the broken shards that sprayed into the car, sharp bits landing on his legs and lap, scattering across the seat like tiny diamonds.

Shaw quickly unlocked the door and yanked it open. His face was twisted in an angry, determined scowl, leaning in and reaching for Tom, who was scrambling over the driver's seat, feet tangling in the straps of his backpack, fingers slipping and clawing at the door lock.

He managed to push it open when Shaw's hands clamped down on one of his legs.

“Come here, it’s okay! Be a good boy. I just want to talk to you.”

"No! Don't touch me! Get off!"

He half fell out of the car, his leg still trapped in Shaw's grip. Throat tight, Tom let out a strangled cry when Shaw forcibly pulled him back in, his fingers scrabbling desperately at the rough asphalt.

“Does he have you here? Huh? Does he? Does he fuck you in this car?”

Tom only half heard him, his panic like a rush of noise in his ears. Twisting, he brought his free leg up and kicked at Shaw, catching him on the shoulder. He kicked twice more, each blow landing with a satisfying thud, before Shaw finally released him with an angry growl.

Tom’s palms scraped painfully when he hit the pavement hard, but he quickly rose to his feet, heart pounding in fear. He'd seen what Shaw had in his other hand and it froze his blood in terror. A small white handkerchief, just as Jason had described in his story.

Not daring to look behind him, he set off across the lot at a full sprint, the building still an alarming distance away.

“Chris!” he gasped, barely audible, heart pounding frantically in his throat. Just behind that door, looming closer with every step he ran, was Chris. His Chris.

With a sob of relief, he reached the door, grabbed at the handle and started to pull it open.

It slammed shut when Shaw collided into him from behind. Tom moaned brokenly when the two inches of light exposed to him from within the gymnasium, the sound of running feet and loud whistles, bouncing balls and the combined masculine voices of the basketball team were instantly extinguished before he could fully open the door.

Shaw spun him by the arm and slammed him against the wall next to the door. Tom’s breath left him in a hard huff. But just as Shaw was reaching into his back pocket, Tom spit in his face, his saliva landing across Shaw’s nose and smearing over his glasses.

Freezing, Shaw closed his eyes and moaned, almost sensually.

Nauseated, Tom took the chance and reached his arm to the side, pounding on the closed door with his fist, the hard reverberations thrumming up his arm painfully.

Shaw’s eyes snapped open. He pulled Tom closer by the lapels of his jacket, his breath hot on Tom’s face.

“You little bitch,” he growled. “You will be mine. Soon enough. You better get fucking used to that idea.” He pushed Tom back against the wall and then he was gone, disappearing around the row of hedges.

Tom’s knees gave out and he slid to the ground, breathing harsh.

The side door opened and light spilled over him.

“Hey, are you okay?”

It was one of the players. He knelt by Tom, reaching to touch his shoulder. Tom flinched away, murmuring one word.

“Chris?” the boy said and then called back into the gym.

A moment later, Chris approached the door. “What is it, man?” Through his daze, Tom felt, _sensed_ , the second Chris saw him. His entire body was attuned to the way Chris stiffened, the anxiety that rolled off him almost instantaneously. He felt it like a wave of heat.

“Tom?” Chris whispered, dropping to his side. Tom’s eyes were trained on a crack in the concrete. His heart was racing.

“Baby,” Chris said, taking his arms and crouching in front of him. When Tom didn’t answer, Chris looked up at his teammate. “Hey, tell coach this is an emergency. Practice is almost over anyway. Tell him I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”

The boy turned back inside and closed the door behind him, leaving them alone in semidarkness.

“Tom. Tell me what happened. Now.”

Tom blinked and focused his eyes on Chris. He inhaled and raised his hand to point in the general direction of the car. “He broke your window.”

“Who? Tom, what--.” But then he stilled, his eyes widening with understanding. “Did he hurt you? Tom, what did he do?”

Tom shook his head, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Sighing, Chris stood and hauled Tom up with him, crushing him to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his big hand cradling Tom’s head. “I’m here now.”

And the tears started to flow for Tom, flush against that body pulsing heat from his practice, sweat on his exposed skin.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed quietly. “I’m sorry, Chris. Your window--.”

“Forget about that,” Chris said, drawing back and taking Tom’s face in his hands. “Did he hurt you? Tell me.”

“He was just here,” Tom whispered. “He was just here.”

Chris swiveled his head, searching, Tom’s small tremors making his chest tight.

“Wait, so…You were the one who slammed the door right now? Before banging on it? Jaime said he thought he heard something.”

“Yes. I ran across the lot and was opening the door when he stopped me.”

Chris cursed, eyes still searching for any sign of that rat faced prick. Images flashed in his mind of Shaw slamming into Tom, pulling him away from the door.

Shaking his head, he held Tom close as they walked to the car. Even from across the lot he could see the broken window, the pieces of glass littered on the ground.

_Jesus_ , he thought. Tom was in the car when that happened.

Numbly, Tom explained what happened, how he fell asleep, Shaw asking him where Chris was, asking him to open the door. He explained the rock and the breaking glass and Shaw climbing in and Tom falling out the door and running and running. He didn’t tell him what Shaw had said about what Chris did to Tom in the car.

“He had…I saw it, Chris. He had a rag in his hand. Just like…Just like Jason said.”

Chris had been examining the damage to the window, his shoes crunching on the broken glass loudly. He turned to Tom, his face pale. Tom almost shrank back, the look on his boyfriend’s face deadly enough to diminish anyone’s courage. And then Chris’s gaze went passed him, out beyond the empty parking lot, the cold wind driving torn paper bags and scattered leaves in great gusts over the pavement.

“Shaw!” he screamed and Tom flinched, crowding back against the car. Chris walked past him, staring at the hedgerows and tall trees surrounding the school. “You can’t have him! I’ll fucking kill you, you piece of shit creep! I’ll kill you!”

“Baby,” Tom whispered, curling his fingers around Chris’s trembling arm. “It’s no use. He’s gone.”

Chris turned to him and Tom was shocked to see tears in his eyes, too. Just as frustrated as Tom, Chris wiped at them angrily and then embraced Tom tightly.

“It’s okay,” Chris murmured after a moment, taking his head and examining his face and body. “Come with me inside to get my stuff and I’ll call my dad. Where’s your phone? The keys?”

Tom started shaking. “I don’t know, Christopher.”

“Okay, shh. It’s okay. Come with me.”

Practice wasn’t over yet, so the locker room was still empty.  Chris gathered his backpack and gym bag and called his dad on the way back outside. He explained that his car had been broken into during practice. Tom could hear his dad tell him to stay calm and he would be right there.

“You’re going to tell him that you were asleep in the car and someone broke the window but when they saw you they ran. You didn’t see them.”

Tom nodded. “Okay.”

“Did he take anything?”

Tom rummaged through his bag. “My phone’s gone.”

They hovered over his backpack, but the front pocket only held broken tipped pencils and mismatched pens and erasers.

“Shit. What was on it?”

_Everything,_ Tom thought with a heavy heart.

“Pictures of me and you. Some videos I took of us, casual, just talking, hanging out. All of our text messages.” His throat started to close up. “Oh god, Chris.”

“Hey, don’t think on it. Stop.” But Chris knew Tom couldn’t help but think about it, because he was too. Shaw scrolling through Tom’s picture gallery, watching his videos, reading their chats. Hatred twisted in his gut and he swallowed it down to control himself. “Did you have a passcode on it?”

Tom was rubbing his eyes with his palms, angry at himself. “Yes. Your birthday. Easy enough to figure out. He’s a math teacher. He’ll figure it out. I’m so—so _stupid_.”

Relief coursed through Chris. Maybe that bought them some time. “You’re not stupid. So you have pictures of your boyfriend in your phone. That isn’t a crime or a sign of stupidity.”

They both turned when a car approached. It was Chris’s dad. He got out of the car and walked over to them. He hugged Chris and then Tom, a great big hug that warmed Tom’s insides.

“You boys okay?”

They nodded and Chris explained what they’d rehearsed.

His dad clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt, Tom.”

Tom nodded and smiled. Turning, Chris’s dad inspected the damage. “I’ve called the police and the insurance company. Someone will stop by the house tomorrow to replace the window. Was anything taken?”

“No,” Chris murmured and Tom laced their fingers together.

When the police officer showed up in a quiet cruiser with its headlights turned off, they all straightened and stood off to the side. The woman asked Tom some questions, but when he couldn’t provide any identifying features, she turned to the vehicle itself, writing up a report for the break-in.

“You can drive it home, but make sure to replace the glass as soon as possible.” She handed the report to Chris’s father and, making sure they had no more questions, left with a quiet ‘goodnight’.

The drive home was short but tense. Tom sat hunched over in his seat, hands gripping his backpack tightly. Chris reached over and pried one of his hands loose, and held it in his own, thumb grazing his knuckles.

The cold air flowing in through the broken window hit Tom square in the face and he curled down a bit more, his hoodie drawn tight under his chin.

At Tom’s house, Chris slid over the seat and kissed him gently, letting Tom burrow into his neck. “I’ll come by tonight.”

“Thank you,” Tom whispered, kissing him again before slipping out of the car.

Once Tom was safely inside, Chris drove home. In his own room, he collapsed on the bed with a groan. He needed to shower, he needed to study, he needed to mentally review the plays they learned in practice today, but he just couldn’t.

His mind was on Tom and what had almost happened today. What kept almost happening. Only Shaw was better prepared this time. A locked door wasn’t enough to stop him from attempting to drug Tom and steal him away.

“Fuck,” he muttered, slamming his fist down on the bed. His phone beeped suddenly in the inky darkness and he sat up with a sigh, looking through his bag for it.

It was a message from Tom’s phone.

His blood ran cold.

_“0811. Happy late birthday, Chris.”_

“Goddammit!” he screamed, grabbing a pillow and throwing it up against the wall. It landed limply on the floor.

“Are you okay?” his dad called up the stairs.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. Clutching his chest, he shouted, “Fine! Everything’s fine!”

He typed a response.

“ _Give Tom his phone back_.”

“ _But I’m have the best time going through all these pictures.”_

Chris squeezed his phone so hard he thought it might snap in two.

Another message came in.

_“I quite liked your screaming fit you threw in the parking lot earlier. Although I prefer my men a little more meek than you. Just like Tom, actually. He’s perfect.”_

Chris counted to ten, fingers steepled against his nose. In the part of his mind that was still rational, Chris was hyper aware that these text messages could be monitored if requested. He didn’t want to send something that might incriminate him instead of Shaw.

“ _Chris? You still there? Tom really does have a lovely smile. He doesn’t show that smile to just anyone. You must be super special.”_

The texts kept coming in, relentlessly buzzing his phone. Chris felt the room start to shrink in on him.

“ _He likes to touch you, doesn’t he? Likes to cuddle?”_

_“I bet he sleeps like a kitten, all curled up next to you.”_

_“Is he warm, Chris? Does he smell good? I bet he smells good. In fact, I remember just how good he smelled. His small little noises as he tried to push me away.”_

“Stop!” Chris gasped, tears stinging his eyes. He rose to his feet, his fury and helplessness and disgust making him feel like a caged animal. He grabbed his keys and bolted down his stairs, his phone continuing to vibrate with new messages.

“Be right back,” he called, fighting to keep his voice normal. “I’ll be at Tom’s.”

“Don’t be back late,” his dad said from the living room. “You’ll freeze with that window open.”

Chris slammed the door and jumped in his car, revving it and pulling out of the driveway. It took two minutes to reach Tom’s house, but his phone kept lighting up with new texts.

“ _Does it upset you, Chris? Me talking about him like that?”_

_“I think about him all the time.”_

_“What does he look like when he comes? I know you know, Chris.”_

_“Have you sucked his cock yet? He must taste divine. I would have him on my cock for weeks on end if I could only get my hands on him. Well, more than I already have.”_

Chris parked a few houses down and jumped out of his car, running through the side gate. He flicked a rock at Tom’s window, praying he wasn’t in the shower or downstairs with his parents. But Tom’s face appeared behind the curtains after a moment. He flung open the window.

“Chris?”

Chris propped the ladder on the wall. He waved Tom down. His voice wasn’t working and he couldn’t trust his rage inside a closed room.

Tom nodded and disappeared for a second. He returned wearing a sweater and some beaten up sneakers. He climbed down slowly.

Chris thrust the phone at him. “What do I do?”

Tom read the messages, his eyes going wider as he scrolled down. “Holy shit.”

“I know. What do I do?”

“Nothing. Do nothing, Chris. Ignore them! Block my number. My parents are going to call the phone company in the morning. I told them it was stolen at school. Our insurance will get me a replacement phone.” He stepped close, cupping Chris’s cheeks. “Darling, you don’t have to read those anymore. Look at me.” Chris was gazing down, his face on fire, rage and shame vying equally, threatening to overwhelm him. When Tom shook his head gently, he raised his eyes. “Chris. He’s goading you. He’s sick. He’s desperate. Who cares that he has all of my pictures and whatnot. I want him to see how happy I am with you. That you’re everything to me. That I love you. It’s probably driving him up the wall with jealousy and this is his way of getting back at you, of making you angry, of throwing you off center. You can’t give him that power. You’re mine. I won’t let you.”

Tom was right. He would block the number. He would bide his time. And one day, he would find Shaw alone and beat his ass, give him exactly what he deserved, and then some.

Tom kissed him softly and Chris sagged against him, his heartbeat fast under Tom’s gentle touch.

“I love you,” he murmured against Tom’s lips. “I love you. I love you.”

“My Christopher,” Tom whispered, throwing his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I love you more.”

**

The insurance agency wouldn’t be able to send someone to replace the window in Chris’s car until the next afternoon, so they walked to school the following morning. Tom was quiet, bundled up in jeans and a sweater, backpack slung high on his shoulders, holding a book close to his chest. Chris had his arm around him, his phone tucked away in his pocket. Leaning over, he blew a raspberry against Tom’s neck and Tom laughed loudly, squirming away.

“Stop!” he said, pulling Chris closer around his waist.

“I love your laugh. I was missing it.”

“I’m s--,” Tom started.

“No,” Chris said. He hooked Tom close around his waist, rubbing their noses together. “Don’t apologize.”

Tom sighed and nodded. They fell into step again

Tom went without a phone for over a week. It wasn’t until after they finished their finals and started winter break, which would last until mid-January, that he received a box in the mail. The phone was refurbished, but worked and looked just like new. He took a picture with Chris almost immediately, blushing as he made it his new wallpaper.

They did not see Shaw their last few days at school, avoiding his classroom entirely, having taken their math finals before the incident in the parking lot. Chris seemed taller when they walked together in the hallways, back straight, his arm around Tom’s shoulders, his entire existence a dare for Shaw to show his face, to simply glance in their direction. But he never did. Shaw seemed to be avoiding the hallways like the plague. A small blessing, in Chris’s opinion, despite his rage and disgust at the teacher.

Jason sat with them at lunch that last week, sliding in beside Tom, popping tater tots into his mouth and smiling widely. Julie would join them after a while, and she and Jason would pick at each other’s lunches, both whispering and laughing quietly. Tom considered telling him what happened, but seeing how happy Jason was, hanging out with Julie, their hands linked under the table, he decided not to.

The conversation Chris and Tom had had in the car, before Shaw’s attack, before the broken window and the stolen phone, kept coming back to Chris as the first days of their winter break passed. Chris was trying to find a chance to visit some stores on his own to buy Tom a gift. But since he and Tom spent every minute together, and it was still a couple of weeks until Christmas he figured he would try later.

One morning, while their parents were at work, Tom and Chris lay on the floor in Tom’s living room. Tom had a book propped open in front of him while Chris yelled at the television, where his video game character was being pummeled to death. His tongue was sticking out adorably from the corner of his mouth, brows furrowed, thumbs moving quickly over the controller.

Tom shut his book and lay on his side facing Chris. He ran his hand over Chris’s spine, scratching lightly with his blunt nails.

“Mmm, do that again,” Chris said, eyes glued to the screen. Tom scratched in lazy circles, loving the feel of solid muscle beneath his nails.

“Christopher.”

“Hmm?” More tongue.

“Christopher, I was thinking…”

“That’s highly unusual for you.”

Tom poked him in the ribs and Chris grunted.

“I was thinking we should go…shopping.”

Chris paused his game. “Shopping? Like for gifts?”

“Shopping. Like for _us_.”

Chris leaned back on his elbow to face him, touched a hand to his waist.

“You mean…?”

Tom nodded. “I’d like to go with you when you buy them.”

“Oh, I’m buying them?” Chris said with a smile.

Tom laughed and poked him again. “Absolutely you’re buying them!”

Chris gathered him close, burying his face in Tom’s neck, breathing his scent. “I’m just kidding. Of course I’ll buy them.” They gazed at each other and then Chris smiled eagerly. “Want to go now?”

Laughing, Tom nodded and Chris hauled him to his feet.

**

As much as Chris loved seeing Tom laugh and smile as he had been over the first few days of their break, he knew his latest incident with Shaw still haunted him. Sometimes Chris would approach Tom from behind and touch his shoulder or take his hand, and Tom would jump or even flinch away from him, before he realized there was no danger. Once he saw it was Chris, Tom would melt against him, sighing calmly, and it gave Chris a powerful sense of purpose, the level of protection and love he felt for Tom.

They decided to drive to a convenience store across town, where they were less likely to run into someone they knew. The scenery changed the further north they drove; the trees grew taller and the mountains loomed closer, more open sky and fewer crowded buildings. Chris wouldn’t have minded continuing the drive into the next city or even the next country. With the windows slit open, Tom gazing over at him and smiling, his long body bent snugly into the seat, one arm across his stomach, the other tracing the lip of the doorframe, white teeth and that half dimple, Chris was just fine with life that way.

He pulled into one of those generic superstores that sold practically everything from groceries and bulk food to clothing, automobile parts and household appliances. Unable to find a spot near the entrance, Chris parked toward the side of the store and they got out. Tom wrapped his hand around Chris’s elbow and followed him in. He was very quiet, and Chris didn’t want to push him, feeling a bit nervous himself. He straightened his spine as they walked through the sliding glass double doors, squinting in the bright fluorescent lights.

“Where would they be?” Tom whispered

Chris knew where they were. He always passed by them when he bought deodorant or shampoo or lotion, eyes averted, trying hard not to look but still managing an embarrassed peek.

“This way.” He led Tom through the swarm of customers milling around, their carts laden with food and kids’ Christmas toys and gardening hoses and laundry detergent, and god knew what else. Passing the aisles for vitamins and diet supplements and makeup and female hygiene products, they finally found the one they wanted toward the back corner of the store. Lining the shelves were boxes upon boxes of condoms and lubricant.

They both hesitated.

Chris finally stepped into the aisle, blessedly empty, and Tom followed, hand tight around his elbow.

They stood before the myriad of options, all packed in brightly colored boxes or sealed away in variously sized bottles.

“Um,” Tom managed, sliding his hand down Chris’s forearm and linking their hands, his eyes darting over the shelves.

“I know,” Chris murmured, eyes widening at the many different sizes and options. Picking one at random, they bent over the box, reading the label carefully.

“What are ribs?” Tom asked.

Chris shrugged, but the more he examined the illustrated diagram the more he suddenly understood. Tom took another box from the shelf and he looked up at Chris, face bright red.

“This one… _tingles?_ ”

“There are so many flavors,” Chris added, reading over the lubricant bottles.

They both tensed when they heard someone enter the aisle, their squeaky shopping cart stopping just a few feet from them. Tom ducked his head and stepped closer to Chris. Whoever it was left the aisle after a minute and they both released their breath at the same time.

“Oh god, maybe I should have stayed in the car,” Tom said, beet red, wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist and hiding his face in his neck.

“No, it’s ok,” Chris assured him, sliding his arm around Tom’s back and clutching him close. “Look, let’s just get the regular, scentless, flavorless, whatever, bottle of lube and a packet of condoms. And then we hit the road. I’m sure we can…experiment…with others later.”

Tom nodded, still not looking.

Grabbing the lube, Chris turned his attention to the shelf of condoms, still unsure which to get.

“You’re definitely a large,” Tom said, smiling against his neck.

“Which makes you an extra-large,” Chris replied, squeezing.

“Shh!” Tom said, lifting his head and covering Chris’s mouth with a finger, his eyes wide.

“It’s true,” Chris whispered, snagging Tom’s finger between his teeth before he could pull it away. He bit gently.

Tom’s lashes fluttered and a rosy glow spread over his cheeks. “You’re bad,” he breathed.

Chris smiled. “I know.”

Finally making their selection, he dragged Tom out of the aisle and to the front registers.

“Don’t they have self-checkouts at these places?”

“Good idea,” Chris said, going to stand behind an elderly couple that was attempting to scan a bag of produce.

The condoms and lube felt like fire in Chris’s hand. He was positive every single person in their immediate vicinity was staring, knowing exactly what the items he held clutched to his stomach were, and exactly what he and Tom planned to do with them. He could just feel it. Their shock, their judgment. And yet, he felt a sudden, daring sense of fuck-all. He and his boyfriend were being responsible, preparing for this incredibly special step in their relationship. He was especially proud of Tom’s progress with trust and vulnerability, his fear and nervousness about sex, of becoming more confident in his physical and emotional boundaries.

There was nothing wrong with that.  

Because he knew that Tom gained reassurance through a touch he recognized and welcomed, Chris squeezed his hand and held their joined palms on his stomach, next to their soon-to-be purchases.

Paying with cash, Chris stuffed their things in a bag and they left the store in a hurry. Halfway to the car, Tom started giggling quietly. And then Chris giggled quietly. They reached the car and had to bend over to catch their breath, their laughter contagious and uncontrollable. Tom’s face was pink and his smile wide, gorgeous.

Linking his hands behind Tom’s head, Chris pushed him up against the car and kissed him full on the lips.

Tom went silent, still a bit uncomfortable with public displays of affection, but he softened toward Chris after a moment, moaning quietly when Chris slipped his tongue in.

“Alright?” Chris asked.

Tom nodded. “Alright.”

Chris opened the door for him and then climbed into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, he threw the car into gear and, with the bag from the store sitting between them, turned out of the parking lot and toward home. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)  
> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but in it I take care of some housekeeping things (aka shopping for Christmas gifts). And hopefully it's not terrible!  
> I finished the other story I had in progress on ao3, so I anticipate that I will be able to update Stray Not From Me faster than I have been.  
> For those who are still with me, thank you so much for your support <3  
> And as always, thank you to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan. I <3 you!

It seemed best to hide their secret merchandise at Chris’s house, as his parents were less likely to stumble upon it. Tom’s parents went into his room more often, while Chris’s parents almost never did.

Over video chat the next night, Chris cleared his throat and picked at a loose thread on his blanket. “Where would you, uh—where would you like to…you know…”

“Do it?” Tom finished, smiling. “We need a code word, don’t we?”

The basketball game on in Chris’s room flowed over the speakers, carrying with it some of the commentators’ words.

“Offensive charge,” Tom mused, listening. His smile grew wider. “Where do you think we should take the _offensive charge_ , Chris?”

Chris swallowed, his fingers gripping the edge of his laptop. “Tom—.”

“Because I think it would be best to take that offensive charge…at your house.”

Chris blinked. “Are you sure?”

Tom blushed and cast his eyes down, his lashes long and curling. “Yes, darling. I would like for it to be in your room.”

Ecstatic, Chris sat up and balanced the computer on his lap. “My parents attend a Christmas party every year at the hospital. This year it will be on the twenty first.” He checked his calendar app. “Eight days.”

Head resting on his folded arm, Tom looked so light and pure against his mountain of pillows. His smile was big and relaxed. “Eight days,” he repeated, the whisper coming over the computer speakers and curling around Chris’s heart.

**

Chris slept in Tom’s bed every night. There was an unease in Tom’s body during the moments he waited for Chris to text him that he was climbing up. He kept his television on, the eerie, shifting blue light illuminating one side of the room, calming his nerves. But once Chris was lying next to him, his long legs twining with Tom’s, they turned the television off and sighed against each other’s mouths, Tom’s heart fluttering in his chest.

Falling asleep was so easy with his warmth next to Tom. It was what he fell into that Tom dreaded. Sometimes he dreamt. Sometimes he didn’t. And other times it was just a voice.

_You little bitch!_

Tom snapped awake, gasping. He sat up, hands rising but the dark was so solid and pressed in on him from all sides

“No, no, stop,” he whispered, shrinking away from something that wasn’t there.

“Tom?”

Something moved next to him. He flinched away from the touch on his shoulder, but it held tight.

“Hey, it’s ok. Tom, it’s me. Baby, stop.”

Tom struggled, sleep still heavy on his consciousness. But the voice broke through the fog. “Chris.”

“Yes. It’s me. Babe, come here.”

Tom crawled over immediately, sinking into Chris’s arms with a quiet sob. They lay back down, Tom inching under Chris as much as he could.

“It’s nothing,” Chris murmured, hands flexing on his back, wide, protective. “It’s not real.”

After a long stretch of silence, Tom spoke. “Do you think…” He fell silent.

Chris caressed his hair, lips on his brow. “Think what?” he whispered.

“Do you think if I went to someone…that they would believe me?”

Shifting closer, Chris wrapped him tight, his stubble tickling Tom’s forehead. “I guess it would probably depend on who you told.”

“I just feel—I just feel so stupid, Chris. I keep thinking that he might be out there, hurting more people. After Jason, it was me. After me, who will it be?”

“Hey,” Chris said, taking his face and angling it up, where even in the dark, Tom’s eyes were big and downcast, ashamed. “Tom. Listen to me. You aren’t stupid. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t provoke it. What you feel is all you have. And if you are unsure of anything, you have to stick to that. Maybe you weren’t ready to tell someone before. Maybe you’re ready now. Or getting there. But you were forced to experience something against your will. You shouldn’t be forced to take any other action, or be forced to feel something, unless you’re ready to do so.”

“But the cell phone—.”

“The texts? There’s no way to prove they were from him. The phone is under your name, Tom.” Chris sighed. “I’ve been kicking myself for not mentioning him in the messages.”

“Is there ever a right or wrong way of handling something like this?”

“I’m sure there is,” Chris said. “But no blame should ever be put on the victim. Please remember that.” He brought their lips together, thumbs grazing over Tom’s cheeks. “You are not to blame in this, Tom. You did nothing wrong.”

Tom sobbed once, softly. “I feel so responsible.” His tears leaked onto Chris’s shirt.

“And that’s part of what’s wrong in all this,” Chris murmured, tucking Tom under his arm. Long after Tom had drifted off, his breath warm and soft on his neck, Chris lay awake, his gaze, narrowed and furious, on the dark ceiling above them.

**

Chris was not about to let Tom out of his sight for anything, so instead of shopping for Christmas gifts separately, he and Tom went to the mall together.

“Do you already know where you’re going to go?” Chris asked, parking the car.

Tom smiled. “Hmm, yes. But that tactic won’t work.”

“What tactic?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m getting you, Christopher. Or where I may or may not be purchasing your gifts.”

Chris tossed his head back and laughed. “You’ve found me out.”

Walking in through the food court, Chris took Tom’s hand and led him toward the escalators.

“Meet me at the fountain downstairs in an hour?”

“Ok,” Tom said, smiling. Chris kissed his nose quickly and gave him a gentle push toward the nearest store.

Tom glanced back at him. He was blushing, of course. Chris felt his heart tighten, watching him walk away alone.

Turning the opposite way, Chris stuck his earphones in and blasted the music on his phone. The nearest department store was back on the first floor, so he headed that way, ignoring the escalator and breezing down the stairs.

Passing the women’s clothing and perfume sections, Chris found the makeup counter and slowed his steps. There were lipsticks and a colorful palette of creamy eye shadows, blushes and rouges and powders with an assortment of brushes and wands and sponges, all alluringly modeled on posters by beautiful women gazing down knowingly at him. At the end of the counter, stacked in neat rows, were the items he was looking for. He silenced his music and stepped close.

“Can I help you?” an older, but attractive, woman with silver hair asked him. She stepped up to the display of nail polishes, angling it for him to see them better. She was smartly dressed in all black with sensible pumps and pantyhose, a string of pearls gracing her neck. “Are you shopping for your mother? Your girlfriend?”

“No,” Chris said absently, rifling through the stack.

“A wife, perhaps? What colors does she like?” Her smile was blinding.

Chris picked up a bottle and peered at its name. _Midnight Stars_. It was dark purple with tiny flecks of gold glitter.

“It’s for my boyfriend,” he said, meeting her eyes. “And I think he’d like this color, and a lighter pink one, too.”

Her face immediately closed off. She stood straighter and took a small step back from the counter, clearing her throat. Her gaze dropped from his.

“Can you help me pick a pink color?” he asked, using his height to stare her down.

Pursing her lips, she seemed in the middle of some internal struggle: help the customer or escape from the weird little homo. Chris knew he wasn’t little, but the way the woman dismissed him so derisively, practically looking down her nose at him, made him feel that way. He stood straighter, setting the nail polish on the glass counter with a sharp click.

“Wait…here, please,” she said, nodding slightly. She spun on her heel and disappeared into the back room.

Taking the opportunity, Chris texted Tom.

_Are you ok?_

Tom replied immediately.

_Yup! Miss you._

Chris smiled.

_I miss you too. Where’s my birthmark?_

_Lower back, right hip. I kissed it this morning ;-)_

_I love you. Text me if you need anything._

_Love you._

A minute later, a slightly younger woman with red hair straight out of a bottle stepped out and walked up to him. Her smile was decidedly friendlier and more genuine. Chris put his phone away.

“Hi,” she said, brushing off her blouse. It seemed she had been interrupted to come greet him.

 _Poor woman was probably eating her lunch or something,_ Chris thought.

“Yeah, another person was helping me, but not really sure what happened. Glad you’re here, though.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes delicately. “Grace. She’s been here for years. Piece of work. As her coworker, I give you full permission to ignore her. Now,” she said, leaning on the counter. “She told me you’re shopping for your boyfriend. What’s his name?”

“Tom,” Chris replied, smiling.

“And yours?” she asked, peering closer, grinning like they were sharing confidences. Chris chuckled.

“My name is Chris.”

“Well, Chris, my name is Cynthia. How can I help you pick something out for Tom?”

In the end, he chose _Midnight Stars_ , as well as a pearly blue color he thought would look lovely with Tom’s skin, called _Ocean Lullaby,_ and a light pink by the name of _Sweetest Love_.

He paid for the bottles and watched as Cynthia packed the polishes in a red box, wrapping it tightly with a silver ribbon. He thanked her for her help and walked back out into the holiday crowd. Seasonal music played from the ceiling, doing nothing to mute the buzz of shoppers milling about, laden with bags and noisy toddlers.

Stopping by the bookstore, he greeted Mr. Avery and bought the new paperback Tom mentioned he’d wanted to read. On his way out, he saw a leather bound journal, tanned a beautiful shade of milk chocolate, and bought that for him, too.

Checking the time, Chris ambled by a clothing store to find Tom’s final gift. Ever since the weather started turning colder, Tom had worn an old brown scarf nearly every day, the softest cotton Chris had ever felt. But he wondered if Tom might like to have another, something different.

He decided on a soft grey scarf, something the salesperson called ‘cashmere’. Chris tucked it in with the other gifts and then headed down the stairs. Glancing into a vitamin store, Chris slowed to a stop when he saw Tom standing in the back talking with someone he couldn’t see. Shuffling back a few steps, Chris realized it was Jason, wearing a green apron with the vitamin store’s logo printed on it. He was stacking bottles of pills and powders, nodding his head as Tom spoke.

Smiling, Chris dodged around other shoppers and headed to the fountain to wait for Tom.

**

After he and Chris separated at the top of the escalator, Tom walked a wide circle around the top floor of the mall, peering into every store. It wasn’t until he found a tiny store filled with a rainbow of glittering play jewelry, feathery hair accessories, plastic purses and tiaras, and various other items targeted at teenage girls, that Tom hesitated.

Stepping in, he was engulfed in a cloud of bubble gum perfume and loud bouncy pop music. The two girls behind the counter, adorned with items available in the store, shouted out a greeting at him and then continued folding a pile of extra-small t-shirts. He wandered through the aisles of dizzying displays, his eyes catching on the hair accessories. He trailed his fingers over jeweled clips and fuzzy scrunchies, multi-colored hairpins, finally settling on a variety of large, elastic bands which seemed to be designed to hold hair back by wrapping all around a person’s head, instead of a traditional ponytail with smaller ties.

They came in packs of four. There were so many colors and design combinations. He looked through each one carefully before finally making his selection. The package he chose had one band that was black with silver stars, one pink with purple hearts, one green with yellow flowers, and one blue with orange suns.

He held the hair ties loosely in his fingers, moving along the aisle, already imagining them on Chris, holding back his thick blond strands as he ran during his games. As much as nearly everything in the store fascinated him, Tom knew he needed to move on. He wanted to find one more gift for Chris, but none of what he saw fit what he had in mind.

The girls at the front counter cooed over his curls, calling him a ‘cutie’. The one ringing up his item turned to him with a smile.

“You won a free gift with your purchase today! Go ahead and choose something from this basket.”

She placed a pink basket woven from flexible plastic before him, inside of which was a clutter of more hair accessories, tiny bottles of nail polish, and differently flavored lip gloss. He looked through them one by one, hesitating on the nail polishes, but finally chose a clear strawberry roll-on gloss.

"These will look gorgeous in your hair," the cashier said, bagging his things.

"Thank you," he said softly. "But they're actually for my boyfriend."

They both gasped at the same time and then let out excited squeals.

"Oh my god, that's so sweet!"

"What's his name?"

"Is he here?"

"Yes, you should totally bring him by!"

Tom blushed and stammered that he would try to bring Chris by a little later on. He fled the store to their shouted goodbyes, clutching the purple bag tightly in one hand.

Winding his way back to the other side of the mall, he found a darkly lit store walled with dark wood paneling and faux palm trees. An artificial cool breeze flowed from somewhere in the gloomy interior. He climbed the two steps inside a bit cautiously, eyeing the giant posters of surfers and ocean waves and tropical fauna. Casual shorts and flowered shirts and white muscle shirts and many different sandals were displayed all over the place. Tom wondered if the store even had any customers during the cold winter months.

"Hey, man. Welcome!" someone said to his left.

Tom spun and saw an employee folding cotton pants on a shelf. He had a black earpiece with a wire running down his neck that disappeared under the collar of his shirt.

"Looking for anything in particular?" He flashed Tom a lazy smile, all tanned skin and dark brown hair, a teenage girl’s surfer-boyfriend wet dream.

Tom cleared his throat, his heart fluttering a bit. "Yes. I'm looking for necklaces."

"Sure thing. Right this way." He set the pants down and gestured for Tom to follow him. Deeper into the store they went until they stopped before several swivel columns of various types of jewelry, all masculine and outdoorsy, in leathers and burnished metals and earthy colors.

"Let me know if you need anything else. My name's Dylan."

Another smile and then he was walking away.

Tom let out his breath.

A few items caught his eye immediately. He set aside a long, finely twined necklace of dark leather with a silver pendant of an ocean wave, held horizontal between where the ends of the leather met. Another necklace he chose was all silver with a dangling pendant of a lightning bolt. And the last item was a bracelet of green cloth, blue cloth and a strand of linked silver braided together.

Dylan rang him up, depositing a receipt into the bag he handed Tom. Thanking him, Tom left the store and began walking down to the fountain. Maybe Chris was finished early.

"Tommy!"

Tom turned and looked into what appeared to be a vitamin store. Jason was behind the counter waving at him.

Tom smiled and walked in. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Jason rolled his yes. “Yeah, well. Whatever. Listen, I’ve been wanting to stop by your house. What happened to your phone?”

Tom froze. “My phone?” Had Jason found out somehow that Shaw had stolen his phone?

“Your number’s disconnected.”

Tom blinked and felt himself relax. He laughed, relieved. "Oh. Yes. I got a new phone." He pulled it out and showed it to Jason. "My other one was stolen at school."

Jason stared at him for a long moment. "Really. Because I saw Shaw with one that looked just like yours the last day of school."

Heart contracting, Tom said nothing, just stared at him blankly.

"Here," Jason said, coming around the counter. "I have to shelve these bottles. Tell me everything."

He followed Jason to the far back corner of the store.

"Where did you see him?" Tom asked quietly.

Jason shook his head. "After school on the last day before break. He was walking down the front steps, zoned into the phone's screen. I'd never seen him with a phone before, so I found it kind of weird. I texted you, but you never responded and then I called and it said the number was disconnected.” He hesitated. “So. How did he take it?"

Glancing around the store first, Tom explained what happened in Chris's car in the parking lot. The more he told the less Jason moved, straightening slowly when Tom mentioned the handkerchief.

"Jesus, Tommy," Jason breathed, his eyes wide. He reached forward and pulled Tom into a hard hug, their bodies bent over the open cardboard boxes full of vitamin supplements. Jason pulled back. "Are you alright? Where was Chris?"

Tom explained the rest. Hearing himself say the words, reliving the ordeal, made his heart pound faster, his voice faltering near the end. Jason’s calm stare helped him breathe, rooted him in the fact that Jason knew where he was coming from, that he understood the pain, however much they both wished not to.

"So he stole your phone then," Jason said, nodding. "I can't believe he texted Chris like that. How is he?" he said after a moment.

"Upset," Tom confessed. "He's angry. He's been having lots of bad dreams since it happened." Tom woke sometimes to hear Chris mumbling in his sleep. His dark brows would be drawn tight, his big hands clenched on the sheets. It wasn't until Tom traced his fingers softly over Chris's face that all shreds of anger left his features. He would lean into Tom, wrapping him tight, face pressed to Tom's neck, sighing quietly.

Tom flushed suddenly, feeling Jason's gaze on him. "Sorry. Probably too much information."

"I take it he's here with you?" Jason said after a moment, smiling.

Tom chuckled. "Yes. We're buying our gifts. I'm supposed to meet him by the fountain in..." He checked his watch. "Well now."

“Alright,” Jason said, stepping around the boxes and hugging Tom again. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Tommy.” He pulled away. “Please be careful. Promise me. Stay close to Chris.”

“I promise,” Tom said quietly.

He left and made his way to the fountain, stopping just to the side of it to stare at Chris, sitting at its edge playing on his phone, blond hair catching in the sunlight filtering in through the glass ceiling.

Chris looked up and caught his eye. Rising, he walked over and stood just before Tom, a foot apart. Both smiled. Taking his hand, Tom pulled him away from the fray of people and toward the stairs. Wordlessly he led Chris back to the first store Tom stopped in and waited for the girls behind the counter to look toward the door, the same poppy music and bubblegum perfume wafting out to meet them. When one of the girls finally looked, Tom gestured at Chris with his head, and smiled. She tapped the shoulder of her companion, both girls clapping their hands to their mouths in their excitement, eyes wide. He couldn’t hear them from where he and Chris stood, but Tom could already imagine their giggles.

Chris, oblivious, was looking towards the other end of the mall. He wrapped an arm around Tom’s shoulder and hugged him close.

“Did you need something else, babe?”

“No,” Tom said, elation pumping through his veins. “We can go now.” He waved at the girls, who waved back happily, fanning themselves dramatically. Chris turned and, confused, waved a bit uncertainly, before pulling Tom along with him.

**

Back at Chris’s empty house, Tom waited in the bedroom for him, still downstairs hiding his gifts. He plopped on the edge of the bed and toed off his sneakers, checking his pockets and finding the still sealed strawberry lip gloss he’d gotten at the mall. Breaking the plastic wrapper, Tom unscrewed the cap and brought the tip to his nose. The scent, unmistakably strawberry, was very strong and sugary. Positive real strawberries didn’t smell like that, Tom still found himself inhaling the scent, liking it a lot. Glancing at the door, he applied a thin layer on his lips and then quickly capped the tube, putting it in his pocket again. It was just like lip balm, but stickier, and smelled nicer. And tasted much, much sweeter.

Bringing it out again, Tom put more on, liking how smooth and slick it felt.

He was rolling his lips together when Chris walked back in the room.

“Did you want to finish watching—.” Chris stopped. He turned to Tom, eyes big and wide. “What is that?” he said quietly, sniffing the air.

Tom scooted back a few inches, heart pounding hard. “What’s what?” He felt his face flaming.

“That…scent. What is it?” But then Chris spotted his lips, shining and moist. “Did you—is that—?”

Tom swallowed thickly and licked the inside of his lips, where the flavor still lingered. “Yes,” he whispered, looking up at Chris under his lashes.

With a muted groan, Chris sank to his knees before Tom and took his face in both hands. “I want to taste.”

Tom nodded, and with barely a second to breathe, Chris brushed their lips together, inhaling the scent of strawberry. He moaned again and then kissed Tom hard, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Jesus, Tom,” Chris murmured, pushing Tom back onto bed and crawling on top of him. He yanked his own shirt off and then Tom’s, immediately running his fingers over Tom’s torso and around the back of his neck, lifting him for another kiss. They moaned, tasting the sticky strawberry, now smeared over both their lips. Reaching, they touched their fingers over warm skin, taught with nerves, rolling on the bed, backs arching. Planting Tom beneath him again, Chris kissed his neck, leaving tiny bite marks the further down he went, inadvertently trailing lip gloss along Tom’s chest to his navel. His blood burned with the small noises Tom made, the gasps, whispering his name.

Tom was hard. Chris could see it and _feel_ it and his mind threatened to blank out if he didn’t taste him again. Unbuckling his belt and buttons, Chris quickly pulled jeans and boxers down Tom’s hips.

Tom whined, lifting his head to watch, hands trembling on his chest. “Chris…”

“Hey, were you showing me off earlier?” Chris asked suddenly, smiling up at him with a wink.

And as Tom blushed red, stammering, Chris took his heavy cock at the base and sucked the tip, watching as Tom’s eyes rolled back, letting his head fall to the bed. He arched and tried bending his knees, but his jeans prevented him. To hold him still, Chris anchored his weight on one thigh and kept Tom’s other leg immobile with his free arm.

He sucked him slow, savoring Tom’s unique flavor mixed with the strawberry gloss, going deeper, wanting to feel his nose pressed against Tom’s lower belly, wanting that hard length lodged in his throat. He knew he could do it. He knew he wouldn’t gag, and this glaring new knowledge heated his face with want. Bobbing his head, he went further down, licking at the thick vein, until finally, relaxing his jaw and pushing even lower, his nose bumped skin and he could go no further, his breath trapped.

He held himself there, eyes fluttering when Tom’s shaking hands came to rest on the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying to push him lower.

 _Fuck, that’s hot_ , Chris thought, spots dotting his vision. Tom tried lifting his hips, his gasps desperate, but Chris couldn’t hold any longer. Lifting up with a wet pop, he dragged in air, saliva spilling down his chin.

Tom, wide-eyed, rose to his elbows. “Are you okay?”

Chris laughed, coughing. He wiped at his chin. “Yes…yes, I’m fine.” He was surprised by how rough his voice sounded. “Holy fuck, I can take you even further than I thought.”

“I know,” Tom said, cheeks rosy. “I felt it.”

“Hold still,” Chris said and yanked Tom’s jeans off. Bowing his head, he swallowed him down again, licking and moaning, the vibrations making all the muscles in Tom’s stomach pull tight. Tom’s hand was in his hair again, the other fisted on the sheet. His legs free, Tom planted his heels on the edge of the mattress and tentatively thrust up into Chris's mouth. Chris groaned, his eyes closing with fresh tears, concentrating on breathing. Sliding his hands under Tom's buttocks, Chris urged him on.

Tossing his head back, Tom lifted his hips again, the tip of his cock curving down Chris's throat. Breathing shallowly through his nose, Chris held his head still as Tom thrust into his mouth.

"Oh--god, Chris! Chris, I'm--Chris..."

Chris hummed and clamped his hands around Tom's slim hips, bobbing his head again when Tom seemed unable to move anymore. Tom was arching, gasping his name. And then he cried out, chills rushing down Chris's spine at the sound. A warm gush of liquid burst in his mouth and Chris swallowed it all, feeling the pulse at his lips, the tremors rolling off the slim thighs wrapped around his neck. After there was nothing left to lick clean, Chris let Tom slip from his mouth, catching his breath, hooded eyes on the rise and fall of Tom's chest. Tom was lying so still, eyes closed, chest and neck flushed pink. He appeared dazed, trembling.

Kissing his inner thigh, smiling when Tom shivered, Chris straightened and removed his jeans, leaving only his boxer briefs on. Opening his legs, Tom accepted his weight, wrapping his arms around Chris, who cradled him close, their foreheads pressed together. He rubbed his crotch on Tom, who whimpered and bit his lip, making Chris groan and thrust faster.

"Fuck yes," he breathed, catching Tom's mouth in a kiss, still sweet with the taste of strawberry. He was so close. His cock was a burning ache and Tom was the only one who could relieve it.

“It’s going to be just like this, Tom,” he said, breathless. “Just like this. And so many other ways.”

Tom’s hands gripped his waist, nails digging in, his lean body rocking on the mattress beneath Chris.

“Yes, Chris. Yes…and you’ll be…in me,” Tom said, eyes drifting shut, as if imagining it, because he was. This is how sex with Chris would be, heavy and warm and tender. Just like this, wrapped up tight in his arms, and he would feel him so deep and he’d claim Tom and Tom would be his.

“Goddammit, I fucking love you,” Chris sighed, cradling his face. He rested more of his weight on Tom, absorbed in how beautiful he was, the sharp cheekbones, his long lashes, how his mouth parted in a small smile. Chris stared, riveted. His mind was buzzing with the lingering scent of the lip gloss and the feel of Tom’s hands on his ass, soft and shaking.

“Baby, can I come?” he asked after a moment, fisting Tom’s hair and mouthing at his jaw.

“Yes. Yes, yes, please, Christopher.”

Kissing his cheek once, Chris angled Tom’s head to the side and stared down at his neck, dark delicate veins pulsing just beneath his skin. Tom shifted, bracing himself, murmuring ‘please’ under his breath.

Chris bit down, holding Tom by the side of his throat, his hips thrusting harder, faster, until every nerve ending in his body was lit aflame and he was coming, a hard throbbing mess, pulsing and moaning. Tom’s legs wrapped around him, Chris shuddered from the strength of it, that great rolling wave crashing over his limbs and his sight, muting everything. Tom’s voice in his ear, faraway, fingers in his hair, holding him.

“Darling,” Tom was murmuring, nuzzling his temple. “Darling, it’s alright. I’m here, Christopher.”

Chris whimpered softly, snuggling against his neck, still a little overcome.

“Four more days,” Tom said, smile wide, moist eyes on the ceiling. “Four, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who have expressed concern about why the boys have not gone to the police, please know that I am 1) trying to convey the conflicting and confusing emotions an assault victim feels, and why going to an authority figure might not feel like the right choice (this having something to do with their age and sense of vulnerability, fear, and shame; but please keep in mind that there are adult victims of rape/assault that do not turn in their abusers for whatever reason; this is just my little work of fiction and I'm writing it as I see it in my head and there are no po-po in my head, and 2) I'm setting up a scenario that works best with no police involvement.  
> And on that note...I will quietly skedaddle.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. This is all smut. I refused to apologize ;-)
> 
> Thank you, my Dusky, for beta'ing this and for calming my wrecked nerves and for being just wonderful.

“Are you nervous?”

Just a whisper in the dark, but Tom could hear the worry in Chris’s voice.

They were lying side by side on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hands linked between them. The stars were especially bright that night, or maybe the emotions pulsing through Tom’s veins made them seem more so as he stared at the dancing constellations visible through the window. Chris had left the shades pulled up halfway when he climbed into his room that night, and Tom’s eyes drifted to the dark sky every few minutes.

“A little,” he admitted, just as quietly.

Chris rubbed his thumb over Tom’s knuckles, and then shifted their joined hands to his chest. He sighed.

“Me, too.”

There were two days left.

**

They spent most of their time indoors. Chris still ran in the evenings, bundled up in sweatpants and hoodie, his breath fogging in great clouds before him. He circled the neighborhood a countless number of times, Tom’s house now in his direct route. Every time he passed it, he’d look up at his front window, where the seeping light indicated Tom was occupied with something or other, probably reading. But his main interest was in the cars parked along the curbs. There was never anyone in them, but he always looked. Just in case.

After his shower and dinner with whichever of his parents was home, or sometimes alone, Chris would sneak out and clamber into Tom’s room in the dead of night, locking the window behind him.

They would whisper. And they would sleep. And sometimes they would wake, hearing the other murmur, softly distressed, lost in the deep static of an endless dream on loop.

On the day before the Christmas party, they were in Chris’s room, tangled on the bed, a new kind of urgency in their kisses.

Tom, naked from the waist down, rocked against Chris, one leg folded over the rise of his hip. He was panting, clutching Chris’s neck, their mouths hovering.

Chris, shirtless, slowly twisted his wrist and then pumped two fingers into Tom again, watching with wide eyes as Tom whined and pressed his forehead down, breath catching, head falling back, when Chris rubbed his thumb over his perineum.

“Breathe, baby,” Chris whispered, clasping Tom closer, feeling the sweat on his brow, the flush warm on his face.

It had taken Chris a while for Tom to relax enough to take a second finger, even when, with almost revered silence, he had stolen a small glob of lube, capping and returning the bottle to its hiding place before their emotions got the better of them.

Lying on their sides, his own erection trapped in his jeans, Chris had eased Tom’s leg over his hip, and felt along his crease until he massaged the oily liquid over Tom’s entrance.

The lube made things much, much easier. Pushing in the first finger after minutes of gentle murmurs and clutching limbs, had them gasping with a kind of elated relief. Moving his slicked finger in and out, Chris witnessed the spreading color of Tom’s cheeks, the spiky eyelashes and furrowed brow, warm, so warm.

When he angled the tip of his second finger to join the first, squirming until it sank in, Tom winced but stayed quiet, his hand fluttering at Chris’s neck.

Concerned, Chris kissed his temple, whispering if he should continue. Tom’s frantic nod assured Chris, comforting the apprehension in his chest that he was hurting Tom, that Tom didn’t want this.

But Tom was beginning to writhe next to him, his hips circling, hands grabbing him closer. His cock was hard between them, from its tip the first strings of pre-come smearing delicately over Chris’s abdomen.

Pumping his hand more steadily now, Chris groaned and bit his lip, his own desire crashing over him at the sight of Tom glowing beneath him.

The shirt he wore hid from Chris the extend of the flush on Tom’s skin, and he was suddenly desperate to have him fully naked, legs wrapped tight around him, sheathed in that tight, wet heat now gripping his fingers.

His breath hitched, the love he felt for Tom overwhelming his mind, making him imagine things, things that would soon be a reality, and he felt dizzy with the want of it.

“Chris. Chris, please,” Tom whispered, thumb grazing behind his ear, those long fingers scratching at the nape of his neck. Chills bloomed over Chris’s skin and he shivered. Tom inched his leg higher on his waist just as Chris angled his fingers inside him, looking for his prostate.

A car door slammed outside and he swiveled his head to stare at the window.

“Fuck,” he growled, looking back down at Tom, whose red face and hooded eyes showed how close he was to finishing.

“What—what’s wrong?” he said breathlessly, wincing from what Chris hoped was pleasure.

Chris was now attuned to every sound in the house, half frozen from what he feared he’d hear any second now. His heart fell when he finally did hear it, the front door opening and closing.

“I think my dad’s home.” _Early_ , he thought with frustration.

Tom, eyes sharpening, tried sitting up, but Chris hugged him close.

“No, it’s okay. It’s okay. He won’t come up here.” He pumped his hand again, the smooth glide making Tom tense, sighing along his neck.

Chris was sweating, desperate to find that sensitive gland, wanting to give Tom that surge of pleasure again, wanted him to fall apart. He was even more beautiful when he did.

Letting Tom rest back on the bed, Chris propped himself on his elbow and picked up the pace, the heel of his palm slapping against Tom’s skin.

“Oh god, oh—god,” Tom whispered, scratching at Chris’s ribs.

“Chris? Are you home?”

_Goddammit_. He gritted his teeth and faced the doorway.

“Yeah!” he called out, guessing his dad was at the bottom of the stairs.

Tom moaned as Chris found his prostate.

Clapping his free hand over Tom’s mouth, Chris leaned down, nudging at his temple. “Shh, baby. Shh.”

“Listen, I brought Chinese take-out on my way home,” his dad was saying. “Come down and eat. Your mother’s still at the hospital. She’ll be home late.”

Pumping his hand still, focusing the pads of his fingers on the sensitive gland, Chris watched with bated breath as Tom began to tremble, his whimpers muted behind the hand Chris held over his mouth.

“Okay!” he yelled back, hoping his dad stayed downstairs. “Be there in a minute!”

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Tom arched as he came, his spasm accompanied by a choked sob, stifled and gorgeous. He thrust his hips toward Chris, his cock jumping and spurting come onto Chris’s stomach.

“Oh, babe, yes. God, that’s it, come for me.”

Tears gathered in Tom’s eyes as Chris milked his orgasm, blinking dazedly up at up him, breathing heavily through his nose. Once he quieted, Chris lifted his hand, smoothing back Tom’s hair. The flush on his skin was lovely, eyes wide but sated.

“Are you okay?”

The imprint of his hand was disappearing from the lower half of Tom’s face as he nodded.

“Yes…yes, I’m okay.” He looked toward the door. “Your father—.”

“I know,” Chris said, withdrawing his fingers very carefully and wiping them on his jeans. His own erection was throbbing painfully, but he willed himself to ignore it. “I better go make an appearance. Want to come eat with us?” '

Tom glanced down at his chest, covered in drying come, and smiled shyly. “I made a mess.”

“ _We_ made a mess.”

“Hardly,” Tom said, glancing at Chris’s crotch. “You still haven’t…”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to—.”

Tom said, “Sit on the edge for me. We’ll take care of this quickly.” He scrambled up, naked legs and wide smile.

They repositioned themselves, Chris propped on the side of the bed, Tom slipping to the floor, kneeling between his knees. Chris, jaw tight, leaned back on his hands, focused on Tom’s every move, wanting to memorize him entirely, the way his nimble fingers yanked on his zipper. His blond curls were lit white in the shining sunlight and his eyes, when he looked up at him, were made iridescent by the same light, the small spots of cinnamon brown in the blue irises making Chris’s knees weak.

Tom softly touched the outline of his cock, hard against his pelvis. He pressed his palm on Chris’s balls, his fingers brushing along the shaft and what Tom found the most wonderful was the heat of it, the scent that had him shifting closer on his knees. Chris was trembling, eyeing Tom with rapture.

Pulling at the top of Chris’s boxers, Tom freed his cock where it lay snug and damp against his skin. Chris groaned when the open air touched it, the look on Tom’s face one of open curiosity and wonder. Tom had always been fascinated with its veined thickness, the rough gathering of blond hairs at its base, details that startled him, ones he promised himself to remember. He couldn’t stop looking and gasped quietly when it jumped right in front of him. How he wished he could bend down and take it into his mouth, to taste Chris there, feel every tiny gasp, every pulse, to feel his lips spread open by that width. But Chris’s dad was downstairs and Tom wanted more time to explore that sensation. Now wasn’t the time.

He braced one hand on Chris’s thigh and then circled the other around his cock. He used his thumb to spread the tiny milky drops gathering at the top and then began working his hand down and up, squeezing and watching how Chris reacted. Chris groaned and dropped his head back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, visibly restraining himself from lifting his hips.

“Tom…” he said, eyes lidded.

“Like this?” he whispered, almost coyly, knowing very well just how to work Chris, after so many times of bringing him to the brink. He rose up to stand taller on his knees, his hand pumping a little faster now. Chris sat up straight and pulled Tom closer by his neck.

“Yes,” he growled, low, pressing his lips to Tom’s ear. “Twist. Like I showed you.” He reached low and covered Tom’s hand with his, slowly turning to and fro until Tom’s long, thin fingers were moving in tiny circles while he pumped. Chris groaned and jerked his hips forward. He crushed Tom to him in a hug, their lips seeking, his tongue delving. Tom’s other hand crept up Chris’s torso, his fingers skimming the taut belly, the soft hairs just above the waistband of his jeans. It rose higher until the hard curve of a pectoral met his touch, his thumb brushing over a nipple. Chris gasped and closed his eyes and Tom, emboldened, brushed it again, loving how Chris was panting into his neck.

Leaning low, never slowing his hand movement, Tom kissed at the smooth skin of his abdomen, trailing his lips up to his chest and finally closing over the hard nub, moaning when Chris gasped.

“I’m…” He grimaced, closing his eyes.

Sucking for a moment longer, Tom straightened and held Chris tight around the waist, his hand moving quickly between them.

“Come, Christopher. I’m here. I’m here with you.” He watched as Chris let his head fall back and, wanting to taste and be as close to him as he could, he pressed kisses to his cheeks and jaw, savoring how Chris trembled.

Suddenly Chris arched and a choked groan rose from his throat. His cock pulsed in Tom’s hand, long spurts of come bursting up and dribbling onto Tom’s fingers, so much of it. Tom moaned at how Chris was so exquisitely undone, holding him as he shuddered.

Remembering how sensitive he became if he rubbed for too long after an orgasm, Tom slowed his hand, Chris’s cock softening in his loose grip.

Chris raised his head, his eyes blown. “Fuck, Tom.”

He threw an arm around Tom’s neck and kissed him.

“Goddammit, you’re amazing.”

Tom grinned and cast his eyes down, feeling the praise like a warm glow on his skin.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I’m starving.”

They laughed quietly.

“Tomorrow,” Tom said, after they were made presentable. He took Chris’s hand and twined their fingers.

“Tomorrow,” Chris agreed, kissing him again.

**

Tom couldn’t shower enough. It wasn’t even four in the afternoon and he’s showered three times. Apart from an apple at breakfast and a piece of toast for lunch, he hadn’t eaten anything else. His nerves wouldn’t have let him eat any more than that anyway.

With his parents at work, and Chris at the hospital helping set up for the Christmas party, Tom was left alone most of the day, his mind running rampant with what he and Chris were going to do that night.

“Come with me to the hospital,” Chris had said the night before over video chat.

“I want to,” Tom admitted, picking at a cuticle. “But I…I would like some time alone. Before,” he finished, finally looking at Chris.

Not wanting to pressure him, Chris had nodded after a moment. “Okay. But lock all your doors and please keep your phone on you?”

“Yes, Christopher,” Tom said, that small smile on his face.

Now, with the time for the Christmas party drawing nearer, Tom showered one final time, preparing in his mind what he would tell his parents that would excuse his absence for most of the evening and early night.

Rubbing lotion over his arms and chest, Tom studied himself in the mirror, examining the length of his legs, his thin torso, long pale arms. His hands drifted to the small of his back, fingers skimming over the curve of his backside, wondering what he looked like there.

His phone buzzed and he yanked his hands back, almost gratefully.

It was Chris.

_How are you?_

_Fine. Almost ready. I miss you._

_I miss you too. I’m home. Pick you up in an hour?_

_Yes. I’ll be ready._

Tom took a deep breath and dressed in well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt, nothing different or special, nothing that would indicate the drastic and terrifying and overwhelmingly exciting event he was walking into.

He brushed his teeth slowly, meeting his reflection’s gaze, lowering his eyes quickly, flicking the light off as he left the bathroom.

He sat in his room, leg bouncing, some mindless show on his television doing nothing to distract him from where he really wanted to be.

After the hour passed, Tom jogged down the stairs and found his mother in the kitchen.

“Hey, mom. I’ll be at Chris’s house for a bit tonight, okay?”

“Oh, alright,” she said, a bit distractedly, her hands covered in sticky flecks of white stuff. She was kneading a roll of dough, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes. “What will you two be up to this evening?”

Tom’s pulse jumped, but he kept his voice even as he leaned against the countertop. “Watching a bunch of silly Christmas movies. His parents are buying us pizza. Should be fun. I’ll be back a bit late, if that’s okay.”

“Well, how late are you thinking? Will he be dropping you by? I don’t feel comfortable you walking the streets very late, darling.”

“It’s just in our neighborhood, mom,” he said, smiling, but not exactly keen himself on the idea of walking the streets alone. “But of course Chris will bring me back. It’s a minute’s drive.”

The doorbell rang and Tom straightened quickly. Kissing his mother’s cheek, he started toward the front door.

“Alright, darling, have fun and not too late, okay?” she called through the kitchen entrance.

“Okay, thanks, mom! Be back later!”

He opened the door and found Chris standing there, wearing a black hoodie and dark blue jeans.

Tom crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, throwing them into a muted darkness.

“My parents are gone already.”

Tom nodded, his heart pounding loud in his ears.

Chris found his hand. Voice low, he asked, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Tom responded. Closing the distance, he embraced Chris quick and hard. “Yes, I’m ready, Chris.”

Chris held him tight. “Let’s go, then,” he whispered, pulling Tom down the drive and to his car.

**

A cool hush had fallen over the house when Chris led Tom through the front door only minutes later. Chris locked the door behind them, and Tom looked around shyly, feeling the ambience was greatly altered without his parents present this late in the day. The only light on was the one above the sink in the kitchen. The rest of the first floor was shrouded in darkness, the Christmas tree decorations casting a warm glow over the living room. His parents would be gone for hours, Chris had said. Sometimes they didn’t return until after midnight. Tom wouldn’t be able to stay that late, of course, but it was only six in the evening. They had plenty of time.

Chris took his hand and they climbed the stairs. Tom noted that Chris had showered too. His hair, still wet, was slicked back. His cologne, faint, lingered on his skin, and Tom closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, the scent both familiar and comforting. It quickened his heart.

Tom squeezed his hand and smiled, remembering the hair bands he’d bought for Chris as a Christmas gift.

“What’s so funny,” Chris asked, eyeing him from the side, a small grin on his face.

“Nothing. I’m just…happy.” They stopped at the top of the stairs and Chris turned to face him, kissing him softly.

“I’m happy, too, Tom,” he said.

Stepping into Chris’s room, Tom stared at the bed. It was neatly made, the pillows stacked against the headboard. He was surprised—and extremely touched—to see that Chris had tidied up, too. There were no clothes thrown on the floor, his shoes were tucked underneath the bedframe, and his gym bag and basketball were in the closet.

He felt Chris at his back, a hand curving around his waist, lips at his neck.

“Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, Tom turned and kissed him, rising up on his tiptoes more out of want than necessity.

Chris gripped his waist harder and leaned forward, walking Tom backwards toward the bed. At its edge, they stopped and stared at each other. Wordlessly, Chris turned on the bedside lamp and then bent and reached under his bed, pulling out a small, familiar bag. Setting the items on his desk in a row: lube, condoms, and a towel, he crumpled up the plastic bag and tossed it in the waste bin.

Tom took the condom box and opened it, pulling out a single packet.

“Do you know—?”

“No,” Chris said. “But it can’t be too hard to figure out.”

After setting the condom and lube within reach, Chris helped Tom out of his hoodie and shirt, reaching low to unbuckle his jeans, placing a gentle kiss on his lips with every garment discarded.

Tom’s eyes were wide, mouth parted slightly, holding Chris’s biceps tightly.

“You’re shaking,” Chris murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth softly.

Tom just shook more. In mere seconds, Tom had rid himself of all clothing. He stood quietly as Chris removed his T-shirt, captivated by the muscles moving beneath his skin with every roll of his shoulder.

Finally naked, they stared at each other, only a foot apart, eyes on each other’s faces.

They were both bright red. Even though they had seen most of each other’s bodies by this point, Tom realized the only other time they had both been completely naked was the night of Halloween, and it had been so dark in his room, there’d been no chance to learn the exact landscape of the other’s body.

The sun had set only a short while before. The bedside lamp cast their bodies in sharp contrast, long shadows thrown on the wall behind them. But Tom only saw the shine in Chris's eyes, the soft, tender look.

They reached for each other at the same time, meeting half way in a kiss that reminded Tom of the beginning of their relationship. Soft, tentative, slow. Chris cradled Tom's head, deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue into Tom's mouth. He tasted of mint and Tom moaned, clutching him closer.

Tom's cock, half hard, started to swell, slowly rising to press against Chris's hip. Chris moved forward, bending over Tom, helping him lie flat on the bed. Stretched over him, Chris felt heavy and warm, skin fresh and smooth. Their hands joined, their lips met over and over. Chris strayed to Tom's neck, licking and murmuring sweetly. His hand slipped low, caressing Tom's hip, curving under the back of his thigh.

"I love you," Chris whispered, trailing his lips over Tom's chest and licking his nipple. Tom gasped quietly, his chest rising, twisting his hips gently.

"I love you, too, darling," he said, fingers carding through those thick blond strands, scratching at his scalp, fisting and tugging lightly, just like Chris liked it, grinning when he shivered.

Sliding lower on Tom's body, Chris lay a tiny kiss on the tip of his swollen cock before moving to Tom's legs, his hands following the long path of thigh and knee and shin, curving around the soles of Tom's feet.

Tom watched, breath caught, as Chris kissed the tip of his toe, his strong thumbs pressing into the arch of his foot.

Moaning, Tom shifted, ticklish. "What have you...been _watching_ , Christopher?"

Chris laughed low, his eyes crinkling devilishly, holding Tom's feet in his hands when he tried pulling them away.

Crawling his way back up, Chris paused and kissed the inside of Tom’s knee, reverent, worshipful. Trailing his tongue down the inside of Tom’s thigh, he hesitated just short of the tender line where Tom’s leg met his hip. He looked up at Tom and smiled slowly, eyes crinkling, before he mouthed at the tender skin of his inner thigh, his tongue hot and wet. Tom had but a moment before Chris bit down, moaning when Tom gasped and arched at the sting. Chris’s eyes fluttered at the sweet taste of Tom’s trembling skin, biting down harder still, wanting his mark to last, to bruise dark.

Tom reached and cupped the back of Chris’s head, holding him there. Sucking hard, Chris finally released him, smoothing his thumb over the red marks of his teeth and the darker bruise forming in the middle.

Spreading Tom's legs and lying between them, Chris laced their fingers and held their hands up on the mattress, grinding low on Tom, letting him feel how hard they both were.

"Yes, Chris. Oh god, yes." 

Chris purred against his neck, loosening his hand to reach for the lube and condom.

Tom sat up on his elbows, watching intently, his breaths shallow, as Chris uncapped the lube bottle, putting the condom aside for the moment.

"Relax, babe," Chris whispered, easing Tom back down with a hand on his chest. Tom flattened himself on the mattress, his hands flexing over the blanket, eyes sharp on every move Chris made. Chris gripped the back of Tom's knees and pushed up, widening his legs, opening him further.

Feeling the warmth flood his face, Tom closed his eyes for a moment, fighting embarrassment and the surge of lust in his blood. Torn between the deep sense of vulnerability breaking over him and the insatiable want and need that pulsed with every heartbeat, pushing his nervousness back and allowing the great _need_ he felt to take root.

"It's okay, babe," Chris whispered, eyeing him from above. “You’re beautiful, Tom. You’re fucking gorgeous. Don’t be afraid to show yourself to me.”

Tom took a deep breath and let the tension release from his limbs, exhaling through the desire flooding his veins, making his senses sharper and more poignant. His legs fell completely open and Chris smiled wide, scooting closer.

He poured a generous amount of lube in his palm and Tom’s eyes widened, swallowing thickly.

Chris laughed softly, putting the bottle aside and holding Tom’s leg open with his other hand. “It’s okay, love We’ll go very slow.” He bent forward and caught his lips, smoothing his clean hand down Tom’s chest and back up to his neck, until Tom moaned quietly and reclined onto the mattress. “Good, love. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. And I swear to god, if someone interrupts us, I’m going to punch this wall.”

Tom laughed and felt the tightness in his chest loosen a bit. "No one will, darling."

Chris reached low and palmed the cleft of his ass, gently smearing the lube over his entrance. Tom sucked in a breath, wanting to tense up again. But he expelled it slowly, eyes on Chris, on the loving concentration on his face, the way he licked his lips, his other hand massaging the meat of Tom’s inner thigh, thumb pressing the newly formed bruise.

They’d done this before, Tom reminded himself. Two fingers was the most Chris had ever managed to get into him, but it was something they’d tried, something familiar. Tom felt his mind rush with the memory of being so undone, reeling from the sensation. He just needed to stay calm and _breathe_. He wanted this. So badly.

Chris took hold of Tom’s erection in his warm hand, gripping and slowly pumping a few times. Tom shifted as the pleasure hit his system and Chris, watching him, pressed his first finger inside.

“Ah,” Tom moaned, closing his eyes and tossing his head back, feeling Chris’s slick finger sliding in and out, changing direction, trying to loosen him a bit more.

Suspended in an altered state of disbelief and wonder, Chris struggled to control his shaking hands as he slowly opened Tom to him, his hole smooth and pink, gripping his finger tightly. "Baby," he breathed, utterly fascinated with the tremulous way Tom was breathing, the blush spreading up his chest. "That's it. Relax for me."

And then two fingers, push and pull, widening them slightly, stretching, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort on Tom's face, blooming with relief when he saw none.

The third finger was trickier, but he angled it between the two already inside, squeezing in extremely slowly. Tom's hands clenched, but he said nothing. Chris moved his wrist again, his fingers bunched together, his mind wild with the idea that he would soon be snug in that heat, too.

Tom winced and stiffened as Chris tried for a fourth finger.

He froze and leaned over him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes," Tom said softly, moving on his back, lifting his leg. "Try again. Again, please."

Chris nodded and focused anew, pumping three fingers in and stretching the slick circle of muscle as gently as he could. Tom was panting, writhing slowly, hands clenched. Chris noticed he was only half hard. Suddenly nervous, Chris searched for that gland that would send Tom spinning with pleasure. Tom cried out when he found it and Chris concentrated on that spot, nudging it softly. With Tom mumbling, neck arching, Chris edged a fourth finger in, gritting his teeth when Tom hissed, freezing.

"Don't stop, don't stop," Tom broke in, sweat spotting his brow. Bracing himself over Tom, Chris kissed him, working him open, pumping his hand softly, fanning his fingers minutely. Chris was painfully hard, his cock standing straight up. But Tom was still less than half erect and he worried he was doing something wrong.

"Baby, are you sure you're okay?" he whispered against his mouth. "Do you want me to stop...for a bit?"

"No. Don't. I want you now. Please, Christopher. I want you now. Inside. Please."

Not having to be told twice, Chris snatched up the condom packet, biting at the edge to tear it open. Glancing at the clock, he was startled to find that an hour had passed.

The rubber was lightly lubricated, Chris was pleased to discover. Tossing the wrapper to the side, Chris fitted the condom over the tip of his cock and rolled it down, letting it snap snugly at the base. _That’s an…interesting sensation_ , Chris thought.

Tom watched with hooded eyes, inhaling quickly, as if bracing himself, when Chris returned his attention to him.

Propping his legs wider, Chris again bent over him, angling his hips low, his breath hitching with need at the sight of Tom’s hole ready for him. Tom, shaking like a leaf, stared up at Chris and circled his forearms with trembling hands.

“Please tell me if I’m hurting you…” Chris said, voice low. “Please.”

“O-okay,” Tom answered, eyes meeting his for a brief moment before snapping up to the ceiling, his grip tight on Chris’s arm, flexing. His chest was jumping in the tiniest breaths and his neck veins were bulging. Chris, reaching low to help guide his cock in, leaned his weight on his other elbow, his face inches from Tom’s, hand in his hair, smoothing his curls.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe with me. Please,” he said softly, kissing his chin. Tom inhaled shakily and, meeting his eyes, Chris started to push in.

Tom was significantly more loose after an hour of stretching him, but it would still be a tight fit.

Shifting, Tom gasped and tried closing his legs. Chris caught one and held it wide. “Not yet, babe. Not yet.”

“Okay,” Tom gasped. “I’m sorry.”

Chris nuzzled his cheek. “You’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect.”

The head of his cock was wide, but with slow pressure, he felt it slip in and they both groaned loudly.

There was a ringing in Chris’s ears, because that heat just couldn’t be possible, that tight, soaking heat gripping him so fucking beautifully. He clenched his jaw, arms and hips vibrating with the need to thrust _hard_.

He groaned again and looked down at Tom, two darting blue eyes meeting his, his mouth parted slightly, brows furrowed, from pain, from pleasure, Chris thought probably a little of both. He looked at Chris, searching, and then lifted his chin, silently asking for a kiss. Chris brought his mouth low, their lips touching again, and something akin to light sped down his spine.

After a moment, he continued pushing in, his arms shaking.

Grimacing, Tom clutched at Chris like a lifeline, Chris murmuring in his ear, hand caressing his face, soothing him as he pushed in a bit more. To Tom, it felt like his body was resisting Chris, fighting the intrusion. He willed himself to relax. Because this was everything he wanted. It was as he had imagined it. It was just so…new. So different, this sensation of being so full and brimming with Chris.

Chris pulled back and then sank in again, almost to the hilt.

Tom moaned, his entire torso tight as a wire. He could feel Chris deep inside and his emotions were ready to burst over him. His cock twitched, still not hard enough.

Breathing heavy, Chris held himself up. “Do you need a…moment, babe?” Sweat spotted his brow.

Nodding tersely, Tom breathed in, his eyes fluttering closed. He could feel the tears gathering under his lashes, and he shook his head, suddenly overwhelmed. He opened his eyes to see the alarm on Chris’s face. He dropped low immediately, cradling his cheeks.

“Babe, no. Why are you crying? Baby, please, are you hurt?”

Tom was shaking his head, small sobs bubbling up in his chest. “No, Christopher. No, I’m not. Please. I’m sorry. I’m just…so amazed. So happy.”

Chris glanced down between their bodies to where Tom’s cock rested limply against his pelvis. “You aren’t hard, Tom. You’re not…enjoying it?”

Tom’s eyes snapped open. “ _Yes_. Chris, yes. I am. Darling, I am! I think it’s…I’m just not used to it just yet.”

The doubt in Chris’s eyes made Tom quickly take his face in hands. “Don’t stop. This feeling, Chris…this feeling of being _filled up_. I like that a lot. So much. It feels so…natural. Like I always imagined it would feel. I just need to get used to it. And you need to move. Please. Move. Moving will help me.”

His hands shifted to Chris’s ass, cupping him, urging him to thrust. And with tears gathering in Chris’s own eyes, he started thrusting slowly, the drag and pull like white sparks in his brain.

Their mouths crashed together in a frantic kiss, Chris wrapping Tom close. His still lubricated hand inched down to tug at Tom’s cock gently, caressing the tip, palming the shaft. And with Tom rocking beneath him, small cries and moans mixing with the groans and grunts Chris gave, Tom felt him brush something inside and he immediately knew it to be his prostate, always so sensitive and ready to blind Tom with the force of the pleasure it gave him.

“Chris…Christopher, I love you.”

“Mmm, babe. I love you, too. So much. You’re so beautiful,” Chris breathed, hips moving faster, sinking in to the hilt every time. Tom realized the pain wasn’t sharp anymore. It was a dull throb that pulsed with every shove from Chris’s body. He wanted more of it. He wanted Chris to keep rutting into him until they both collapsed from exhaustion.

Chris brushed that sweet spot again and Tom’s eyes fluttered closed. He lifted his legs, wrapping them around his waist, and smiled when Chris hit that spot with every thrust. They fell into a sort of rhythm, rocking together, lips joined, tiny whispers given with love.

Tom was gasping, fingers tangling in the silky blond strands waving over him. His cock was filling slowly, surrounded by Chris’s big body, his cologne lingering on his skin, his scent on the pillow beneath Tom’s head.

“Shit, babe. I think—I think I’m going to come. Fuck, fuck. Tom, I’m—.”

He slammed in a final time and Tom winced, enthralled with the look on his boyfriend’s face, touching his neck softly. Chris seized up, holding himself over Tom on his hands, teeth clenched, head tilted upward. He groaned deep, pulling back and thrusting in again two more times before falling limp.

Tom caught his weight with a soft huff, his broad back gleaming with sweat, rising and falling with every labored breath.

Smiling widely, Tom touched Chris’s face softly, brushing back his damp hair. He’d felt Chris come. It was the most beautiful thing. Deep inside, the pulses, almost like he’d gotten _bigger_ for a moment before he released.

“Darling, my darling,” he cooed, kissing Chris on the temple, pure delight racing through his veins at what they’d just done. The love they’d made.

Chris whimpered quietly, cuddling closer, still connected to him.

“Babe,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Tom angled his face up. “For what?”

Chris looked downright crestfallen. “I came too fast. And—and you didn’t come at all. I feel terrible.”

“My love. You were exquisite. I couldn’t get enough of you. But I think we just need to practice. And I will come. I know it. Do you want to practice more…with me?”

Chris growled and kissed him hard, hands skimming up Tom’s waist, pulling him close. “You’re still shaking,” he said when they broke apart, blue eyes flicking over his body.

Smiling, Tom nodded. “I’ll be fine. I loved it so much. My heart was bursting. Here,” he said, taking his hand and bringing it to his chest, where it still pounded a harried beat.

Chris looked down at Tom’s cock, still half hard, and then back at him, smiling wide, eyes still shining with tears.

“Hold still,” he murmured and began to pull out.

Tom winced, but watched, fascinated, as Chris eased out inch by inch, hesitating when the head of his cock got caught before falling out. The tip of the condom was filled with a milky liquid. Chris tore it off and tied it closed, standing to toss it in the bin. He returned to Tom immediately, lying between his legs and running his firm tongue up the underside of Tom’s cock, taking it in his mouth, humming. Tom fell back on the bed and let Chris lift him high, one hand curving around his hip, the other slipping two fingers inside him, finding his prostate and milking it, the smile in his eyes wicked when Tom whined loudly. Licking up his perineum and mouthing at his balls, Chris took him deep quickly, his nose pressed to Tom’s belly almost immediately, saliva spilling between his lips. He bobbed, holding Tom down by his waist.

Tom was a sobbing mess. Chris’s mouth, his fluttering throat, all the strain and buildup of making love, the fingers inside, nudging, had him coming in record speed, arching off the bed, Chris’s name a litany on his lips.

Mind buzzing, Tom collapsed back on the bed, half conscious of Chris wiping him down with the towel, eyes cracked open a slit when Chris pulled back the blankets, inching them out from under Tom’s dazed body. He lay down with him and covered them both, snuggling Tom to his chest, giving tiny kisses on his lips and forehead.

“My love, my love,” he whispered, grinning.

Tom blinked up and him and returned his smile, his heart alighting in joy and relief.

They laughed quietly together, giddy. The sweat was drying from their skin, but they pressed together all the harder, legs twining.

“How do you feel?” Chris asked quietly, his hand curving over Tom’s backside.

“I’m okay.” He blushed and looked down. “A bit sore.”

“My babe,” Chris whispered, kissing him softly. “Does it hurt if I…touch you…here?” His fingers over Tom’s entrance, but didn’t press in, hovering.

“I don’t…I don’t think so.” Tom’s hand slipped around his neck, eyeing Chris’s lips.

“Tender?” Chris said, smiling, nibbling on his ear.

Tom gulped, chills erupting over his skin. He angled his head back. “Yes, darling.”

“I want you again,” Chris said, lifting his head. Tom’s hips shifted forward, offering, his mouth parting, fingers pulling.

“But we can wait. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Yes. I want to lie here with you. I want to hear your heartbeat, warm in this cocoon of blankets.” They laughed quietly, Chris tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “And later, I want you in me again. Okay?” He licked his lips. "Please?"

Chris shivered and rolled his hips against Tom, once. “Yes, babe. I want that, too.”

They snuggled down, wrapped tight, heads resting on the same pillow. Tom couldn’t look at Chris long enough. He never could have imagined that this man would be the one to take his virginity, and Tom, also, claiming his in return. Chris, walking back into a classroom so many months ago, had taken Tom’s heart and never strayed from his side. He had been his steady hand, garnering strength that Tom fed from, allowing his own to bloom.

“Chris,” Tom said, tears pooling in his eyes. Voice caught, he buried his face in Chris’s neck, his body shaking with barely suppressed tears.

Chris held him strong, a hand at his back, the other curled over his shoulder, shielding him.

“I know, Tom. I love you, too. You’re my heart.”

They lay quietly, until with exhausted breaths, they fell off the edge of consciousness, into sleep.

**

Waking some time later, Tom blinked his eyes open. The sky visible behind the curtains was black, and the bedside lamp cast an uneven light over one side of the room. Chris was lying over him, but lower than before. His head rested on Tom’s stomach, one hand soothing over Tom’s hip, staring into space. It seemed he’d been awake for some time.

“Darling,” Tom said, voice hushed, and Chris lifted his head, smiling sleepily.

Tom raised his knees and spread his legs. He whispered, “Please.”

Something shifted over Chris’s face, a deep want, eager and relieved, before he was reaching for the box of condoms, tearing one open, sliding it over his erection and pulling Tom closer by his hips.

Dripping more lube on his palm, Chris readied him with a steadier hand than before. Tom felt he was still open from their earlier lovemaking, but he gasped when Chris added two fingers at once, the sense of being filled no less surprising.

“Oh…god,” Chris moaned, mouth slack, as he slid into Tom’s heat again. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Tom, adoring, watched him, reaching his hands, wanting that weight on him.

Resting his chest on Tom’s, Chris gathered him in his arms and started pumping slowly. Tom’s hands flew to Chris’s hips, stalling him for a moment. The burn was intense, the stretch blinding. He blinked away the tears that threatened and took a deep breath.

Chris held himself still, eyes on Tom’s face, waiting.

Breathing shakily, Tom nodded and Chris thrust again, unhurried, the drag and pull of Tom’s entrance lulling him in the sense of security and possession he felt.

Wrapping his legs around Chris’s waist, Tom tried to angle himself so that Chris brushed that gland inside him, and when he did, Tom hissed, delirious with the white light bursting before his eyes.

Delighted, Chris took Tom’s cock and started fisting it gently, working it to full hardness, until they were both groaning from it all.

Rocking together, they breathed as one, Chris rutting further and further in, until their skin slapped together, his sac hanging heavily against Tom.

Hips stuttering to a stop, Chris came violently, letting Tom go before he hurt him, shuddering above him. His breathing harsh and trembling, Chris rested his head on Tom’s shoulder.

Tom whined beneath him, trying to angle his hips up, needing Chris to move inside him. “Oh, darling Christopher, _please_.”

Still hard, Chris rose to his knees and hooked his hands around Tom’s waist lifting him to rest on his thighs. He started a steady rhythm again, grimacing, overstimulated, but the ecstasy on Tom’s face made him push through it.

“Yes, yes, darling, yes, don’t stop,” Tom gasped, eyes rolling back, hand wrapping around his own cock, tugging fast.

When he came, his vision clouded and all his muscles clenched, forcing Chris to stop thrusting. He cried out and arched, hands flailing on the mattress.

Chris winced, feeling Tom tighten almost painfully around him, but he was on the brink of his third orgasm and he needed to plunge in, again.

Gritting his teeth, blunt nails digging into Tom’s flesh, he pulled out as far as Tom’s body allowed him and pounded in again, his climax rolling over his senses, chest tight with the need to breathe.

Tom whimpered and wrapped long fingers around his wrists.

Chris blinked dazedly. The ceiling, bare and cast in yellow light, was above him. Head swimming, he fell forward but caught himself just before landing on Tom.

“Goddamn,” he wheezed. “You get so fucking tight when you come and I’m in you. I fucking love it.”

Tom blushed red and smiled, caressing Chris’s cheek. Spotting the warm come on Tom’s chest, he began licking at it until it was gone.

“You came,” he said, nuzzling Tom’s neck, rotating his hips, still buried deep in him.

“I did, yes,” Tom replied. He giggled and then Chris giggled, kissing each other hungrily.

Chris eased out, watching Tom’s face carefully, and disposed of his condom. Turning off the bedside lamp, he crawled back under the covers.

They settled down and laughed together, limbs tangling, safe in the quiet dark.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving along here. Thank you for being so patient with me!
> 
> Thank you, duskyhuedladysatan, for being my beta <3

It was just after nine in the evening when Tom quietly slipped out from under Chris, who was still napping, chest rising with slow breaths.

In the bright bathroom light, his reflection showed the marks of Chris’s possession of him and he smiled, touching them softly. He had bites on his shoulder and bruises on his hips from where Chris had held him tightly. The large bruise on his inner thigh was surrounded by teeth marks, while a tiny hickey was beginning to show on one side of his neck, glowing a light purple. He would need to remember to hide it in the morning.

Standing under the hot spray of water, Tom showered slowly, rinsing his body with gentle care, wincing slightly as he rubbed soap down his back. And then he remembered the feel of big hands on his skin, calloused and warm, and he smiled again, unable to help it.

Chris felt more his than ever before. Their connection seemed solidified in a way that made Tom feel weightless and lightheaded, a true pact made stronger and unbreakable.

Chris was his. And he belonged to Chris. It felt more right than anything he’d imagined, and exactly as right as he’d hoped.

Tom laughed quietly, fingers pressed to his mouth, tears brimming in his eyes, spilling hotly, his vision blurring. His happiness was immense, a great wave of feeling in his brain and heart, robbing him of breath, spiking his pulse, over-sensitizing his skin and making his toes tingle.

"My Chris," he breathed, hand on his chest. He wiped at his tears and then laughed again, shaking his head, letting the water rinse away the rest.

He picked up the bottle of Chris's body wash and inhaled its scent before squeezing some onto his palm and lathering it over his chest and neck.

He was humming quietly when the air in the room shifted suddenly. He wiped his eyes quickly, realizing the door to the bathroom had opened. He was covered in only soap suds but he held still, waiting. The door closed and a tall shape appeared on the other side of the shower curtain. Pulling it aside, Chris stood there, smiling.

He took his time looking Tom up and down, watching as Tom’s blush rose high on his cheeks.

"Can I join you?"

Tom grinned and pulled Chris into the shower with him. He embraced him tight, his emotions still rampant, happily giddy and serene and relieved, all at once. The water poured over their bent heads, Chris kissing his cheek, then down to his neck, pulling Tom closer.

Smiling, Tom rubbed more body wash over Chris's shoulders, laughing when he soaped up Chris's hair, pulling it into short spikes and swirls. Chris growled playfully and then shook his head fast, suds and bubbles flying everywhere. Tom laughed and covered his face.

“You big puppy!” he cried and then yelped when Chris snatched him around the waist and kissed him hard.

“You’re a puppy,” Chris grumbled, nibbling on his earlobe.

They rinsed off, lips wandering, fingers searching, until Tom was gasping and Chris groaned quietly, feeling them both harden.

The steam rose over their heads as Chris cornered Tom, mouthing at his neck.

Staring at the beads of water dotting the top of Chris’s shoulders, Tom swallowed nervously. "Chris, may I…may I taste you?" he asked, lips at his ear. He closed his eyes, waiting.

Chris pulled back and took Tom's chin until he looked him in the eye. "You mean...?"

Tom nodded.

"You don't have to...I mean, I don't want you to feel pressured to."

"I want to," Tom said, voice sure. He moved to position Chris against the wall and squatted before him, wincing slightly at the burn he felt.

"Tom…," Chris breathed, watching Tom take his cock in hand and stroke it, working it to full hardness. His heart was trying to burst out of his chest. The way those long fingers wrapped tightly around his length felt so good, but they couldn’t compare to how amazing it felt being hilt-deep in Tom, that lean body trembling and wrapping him closer. "Oh, babe," Chris moaned, his hands gripping the wall.

Tom smiled and looked up at him. Chris moaned at the sight of Tom kneeling before him, the water pounding on his thin back, pumping his cock, long lashes clumped together over his big blue eyes.

Steadying himself with a hand on Chris’s thigh, Tom stared at his erection, swollen thick and veined. He licked his lips, his heart fluttering wildly.

He started by running his nose through the hairs gathered at its base, letting his tongue trail up the hard length and under the head. It delighted Tom how much Chris was trembling, his blond hair hanging in wet strands over his face, dripping water over him.

Opening his mouth, Tom licked at the head tentatively, noting the bitter flavor, before closing his lips around it and sucking lightly.

Chris let his head fall back against the tiled wall, concentrating on not thrusting into Tom's mouth.

Moaning, Tom took more of Chris in, already realizing that he wouldn't fit. There was no way. Not without taking him deeper into his throat, just as Chris always did when he gave Tom head. He only had half of his cock in his mouth and he was already nudging the back of his throat.

Pulling back, Tom took a deep breath, feeling his lips tingling.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, his hands clutching at the wall. Tom nodded. He was about to take him in his mouth again when Chris's hand shot out and gently swiped the sodden curls off Tom's forehead, caressing his cheek.

"You look so beautiful there, Tom. On your knees. So lovely. Your legs spread. Please touch yourself, baby."

Tom certainly was hard, but he'd been ignoring his own arousal to focus on Chris.

He reached between his legs and took himself in hand, stroking it lightly. Looking back up at Chris, he blinked and whispered, "Like this?" And then he swallowed him down again, letting his hand grip the part of Chris he couldn't fit into his mouth. He synced the hand between his legs with the bobs of his head as a deep coil of pleasure wound hotly in his veins, spreading from his core. He moaned again.

"Fuck…yes," Chris groaned, head back, hands fisted tight.

Wanting to try a bit more, Tom gripped Chris behind his thigh and opened his mouth as wide as he could, sinking lower on him than before. His throat contracted and he gagged, pulling off him quickly. He coughed, feeling the warmth of his saliva on his chin.

"Jesus fuck, Tom," Chris breathed, bending and kissing Tom hard, his hand around the back of Tom's neck, the other cupping his chin. "I fucking love you," he whispered. Another kiss. "Do that again, baby, please."

Tom’s heart danced and he nodded eagerly.

Using his hand again, Tom bobbed his head, loving the hot, wet slide of Chris’s cock in his mouth, only daring to go further when he felt Chris’s hand on the side of his head, fingers curling behind his neck.

“Oh, baby, yes,” Chris gasped, when Tom tried to take him deep again, his throat fluttering in warning.

Unable to resist, he gagged once more and pulled away, coughing, his eyes tearing up.

“Come here,” Chris whispered, tugging Tom to stand up beside him.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Tom started, tears spilling. “I’m so bad at it—.”

“Stop, Tom, stop,” Chris said, taking his face and kissing him gently, their tongues twining together. Tom’s hips jumped forward and their cocks brushed. They moaned softly.

Breaking apart, Chris smiled and smoothed back Tom’s hair. “You were great, babe. Gorgeous. I can tell you right now that I love you giving head. Your lips around my cock, your eyes on me, touching yourself.”

Chris straightened and turned them around so that Tom’s back was flush against the corner. Chris pressed his hips on him slowly.

“But you make it look so…so…easy,” Tom said, eyes shutting as Chris started rubbing their cocks together, holding them between his fingers.

“Yeah, but…” Chris said, groaning and wrapping an arm around Tom’s waist, anchoring him as he rutted. “I—I don’t have a gag reflex, babe. I just have to…” He groaned again, looking down between their bodies to where they moved together and kissed Tom fast. “I just have to deal with…not breathing…for a bit.” Another kiss, much softer. “It’s okay, love. I don’t want you to worry. Please.”

Tom clutched at him, rocking with Chris against the cool tile. “I want to make you f-feel good, Christopher.”

“You do, babe. You’re so amazing. I want to keep you forever. I can’t get enough of you,” he gasped, wincing as he felt his orgasm coiling low in his belly. Tom was whimpering and rolling his hips, needing to climax just as desperately.

“I w-want to try…some more,” he was saying, half coherently, his eyes rolling back. Chris knew he was close. “I want to get better.”

“But you’re perfect,” Chris whispered against his ear, their wet bodies pressed closely together. “You’re just perfect. I love you. Come, baby. Come.”

Tom was gasping his name, rising up on his tiptoes, arching, arching. He cried out as he came, spilling hotly against Chris’s pelvis. His legs gave out and Chris caught him, tightening his grip around Tom’s waist, hurrying to hold his shoulders with his other arm before he collapsed.

“I’ve got you, Tom. I’ve got you, my love.” And as Tom was blinking his eyes open, still dazed, Chris pushed up against him and climaxed with a quiet groan, his seed pulsing and dripping down the inside of Tom’s thigh.

His arms and legs were shaking, holding up both of their bodies. But they clung to each other all the harder, crowded up against the corner of the shower, the water now on the colder side of lukewarm.

They hardly noticed. Their lips sought each other, kissing lazily, fingers skimming over back muscles and the sharp point of a hipbone.

“I love you,” Chris murmured, inches from Tom’s face, gazing at him seriously. “I love you. And you can do whatever you want, okay? I want you to be comfortable with everything we do. If you aren’t, you need to tell me. Promise me.”

Tom nodded. “Yes, Christopher. I promise. I love you, too. Everything we’ve done, I’ve wanted to do. And I want to do so much more. With you, so much more.”

Chris smiled. He held Tom as he braced his weight on the floor again, his toes like wrinkled raisins. They rinsed their bodies one more time and then helped dry each other off, racing through the cold hallway to his room, where it was still warm.

They dressed slowly, eyeing each other, and laughing when they were caught staring.

They held hands as they left his room, Tom wincing down the stairs. His backside was still very sore and he tried to keep up with Chris’s easier gait. Chris noticed he lagged behind a few steps, and wrapped an arm around Tom’s waist. He walked him slowly down the driveway to his car and opened the door for him. Sitting was somewhat uncomfortable, but he could bear it. He fidgeted around until he found a tolerable position as Chris walked to the driver’s side.

Tom took Chris’s free hand during the drive to his house, cradling it in both of his, feeling along the bumpy veins roping up his forearm.

He smiled at him in the dark.

At his house, Chris parked along the curb. The Christmas tree was bright through the front window, but his parents had left the porch light on for him.

It took only one look and they were embracing again, falling back into each other’s arms, meeting in the middle of the front seat, the gearshift poking their legs painfully, kissing in a hurry.

“Don’t go,” Chris whispered, his lips straying to Tom’s neck, mouthing at the delicate skin beneath his ear. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

“I want to,” Tom breathed, squeezing his eyes shut at the chills that sprouted over his skin. “Come to me tonight. Please.”

“I will. I will. Baby, I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He slowly, regrettably, disentangled himself from Chris’s arms, the other leaving tiny kisses on his shoulders until he couldn’t anymore. Opening the door, he slid out but Chris caught his hand before it could slip away.

“Wait for me,” he said quietly and kissed Tom’s knuckles softly. Tom lungs felt ready to burst and he nodded quickly, his heart in his throat.

He closed the door and then placed his hand on the glass, leaving its print there, fogging in the cold air.

Pursing his lips, he blew Chris a kiss and then turned away, face red and smiling wide. He limped up the drive to the front door, opening it and waving at the boy he knew waited for him on the curb, waited to make sure he was safe inside.

**

The downstairs lights were all off, so he knew his parents were in their room. Whether or not they were asleep, he couldn’t tell, but he needed to be as quiet as possible getting to the second storey. The stairs rose dauntingly before him. He swallowed thickly and then gripped the banister, starting his ascent.

The pain was slightly sharper now that some time had passed. With every step he took, he gritted his teeth to stop a gasp from escaping. He hobbled up slowly, both hands on the banister for balance, his palms sweating.

At the top landing, he tried to gather his breath, bending over slightly, but any kind of stretch aggravated his soreness. Collecting himself, he knocked on his parents’ door and then peeked in. His mother was asleep, but his dad was in bed watching television.

“I’m back,” he whispered, glad for the darkness in the room, the flickering light of the TV preventing his red face from showing.

“Okay, good,” his dad said, muting the sound. “Have fun?”

“Yes,” Tom replied. “I locked the door. And I’m heading to bed now.”

“Okay, son. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Tom closed the door softly and breathed out a sigh of relief. He shuffled down the hall and into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth slowly, holding his gaze in the mirror a little longer than before, smiling shyly at the newfound secret he kept locked away in his heart. Less nervous, he was already excited about the next time he and Chris could make love again, to feel that strength above him, that heat, all hard lines and flexing muscles.

Back in his room, he undressed slowly, careful not to stretch or bend too far, discarding his clothes in the hamper inside his closet. He unlocked his window and then rummaged for his favorite cotton shorts. Biting back a groan, Tom sat on the bed and pulled them on, finally collapsing against his pillows, curling up on his side.

Not exactly surprised at the wave of fatigue that hit him, Tom stifled yawn after yawn, his eyes blinking slower and slower. He brought his wrists up to his face, curling them on the pillow.

He smelled of Chris.

Reaching under his pillow, he brought out Chris’s sweatshirt and pulled it on over his bare chest.

He giggled softly, curling in on himself, and closed his eyes.

Sometime later, he woke, his senses spiraling. He could feel someone behind him on the other side of the bed. A finger was trailing under the edge of sweatshirt, skimming his lower back, up and down.

_Not Shaw. Not Shaw. Not Shaw._

He squeezed his eyes closed and counted to five, slowly.

“Christopher,” he whispered, ready to bolt if the voice was wrong.

“Yeah, babe,” came the soft reply and Tom visibly sagged with relief.

“It’s me. It’s only me,” Chris said, inching closer, but still keeping his distance, trying to discern Tom's reaction. He didn't know if his presence would still surprise him. He'd been asleep only moments before.

Tom turned over and faced him. “I didn’t panic, I didn’t panic,” he murmured, taking Chris's hand across the bed, lacing their fingers.

“I know. I didn't want to give you cause to panic." He licked his lips, looking down at their joined hands. "But I had to touch you. I couldn’t simply lie next to you and not touch you. I want to be wrapped up in you always.”

“Yes, please.” Tom sighed, eyes closing, and snuggled down. He clasped Chris's hand in both of his.

“How are you feeling? You’re still limping.”

“I’m fantastic, my love. And sleepy. Let’s sleep.”

Chris chuckled. “Anything you say.”

He knew the moment Tom fell asleep. His shoulders slumped down and the tension in his brows smoothed over. Casting a glance around the room, Chris let his body relax and closed his own eyes, listening to Tom breathe, knowing they would find each other sometime in the night.

It was just before dawn that Chris woke up to Tom curled tightly in his arms. They were wound together like ribbon, Tom’s soft murmurs at his neck.

Chris wanted him again.

He would want him always.

“My sweater looks good on you,” he whispered, smiling. He bunched up the fabric, feeling the warmth that had seeped into it from Tom’s skin. It was pulled up a few inches above his shorts, showing a sliver of flat tummy. Chris stared at the tempting dip in his waist, at his tiny perfect belly button, wanting to kiss it. A wave of desire slammed into his brain and he stifled a groan.

Moving slowly, he disentangled himself from Tom’s arms and crawled off the bed, his erection getting painful. He stood for a moment looking down at Tom, not wanting to leave him like this. He bent and touched Tom’s forehead, smoothing back his curls.

“Baby,” he whispered.

Tom groaned softly.

“I have to go home now. It’s still early. I’ll call you in a few hours, okay? I’ll come pick you up.”

Tom’s eyes fluttered but stayed closed. He sighed and curled around his pillow, mumbling something. Chris couldn’t resist. He kissed his cheek, stealing a few more along his jaw and down to his neck, breathing in the warm, sleepy scent of his boyfriend.

“Christopher,” Tom whispered, eyes still closed.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

Chris tore himself away and climbed out the window, closing it behind him, eyes lingering on Tom’s sleeping form under the blankets. He hurried down the ladder and out through the side gate. Chris sprinted home, the sky still dark. He was glad for the early hour. There was no one in sight to witness his raging desire.

He needed Tom so badly. But he wanted to give him more time. It was too soon.

Hoping the run would help calm him down, Chris stifled a frustrated groan when he stepped into his room and he was still hard.

Instead of the lube, which he wanted to save, Chris grabbed his body lotion and collapsed on the bed, yanking his sweatpants down. Rubbing lotion into his palm, Chris slathered his cock and moved his closed fist up and down.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, Tom’s eyes flashing in his mind, long lashes curled, his lips sticky with strawberry gloss, parted in a small gasp of pleasure.

There was a pounding in his head, blood surging through his veins. He remembered how Tom’s body arched beneath his, the way his skin felt so smooth under his hands, his nails digging into his back.

Chris grimaced, working his hand faster, almost, almost—.

And then, that breathy way Tom said his name.

_Christopher._

He came hard, hips lifting, neck straining, his load shooting high and landing on his shirt. He pushed through his orgasm, squeezing out every last sensation and tingle, trembling.

Breathing hard, he finally collapsed back, blinking dazedly.

“Well, shit.”

He lay panting for a few moments, catching his breath and letting his hammering heart slow to a less frantic beat. He cleaned himself up and washed his hands. After changing clothes, he ran down the stairs and found his father in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

“I’ll be right back.”

His dad frowned, glancing at the clock. “It’s a bit early to be going to Tom’s, isn’t it?”

Chris laughed, twirling his keys. “I’m heading to the gas station. I woke up craving Cheetos. You want something?”

His dad took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “No, thanks. I have to be at the office early today. Your mother had the early shift at the hospital, so she’ll be doing her rounds until after lunch. Be careful out there.”

Chris nodded and tossed him a wave.

Bypassing the gas station, he headed to the 24-hour mega store near the recreation center.

He looked no one in the eye, even if the store was nearly empty so early in the morning. He found the right aisle and snatched what he remembered seeing the last time he and Tom had visited the store on the other side of town, as well as a smaller box of condoms.

He paid, grabbing a bag of Cheetos at the last second, and then jogged back to his car, heart racing.

Buckling his seat belt, he hesitated before starting the engine. He opened up the first box and took out one of the small packets, just a little bigger than a ketchup packet, but containing something infinitely more interesting and useful to them. Squeezing gently, he watched the oily liquid squish around in the clear plastic.

He opened his glove compartment and stashed a handful of the small packets of lube and condoms there.

Finally throwing the car into gear, he felt his heart unclench. Whenever Tom was ready to have sex again, Chris would be prepared to make things as comfortable as possible.

At his house, Chris parked and sat in his car, staring at the neighbor’s yard. He spied a rare rose blossom blooming along their hedges, so strangely bright in its rather drab and grey, brittle surroundings. Glancing around, he got out and quickly leaned over the hedge, snapping the stem. Cradling it in his hands, he took it inside, closing the door behind him.

**

Tom’s heart was pounding. He could have sworn Chris was with him during the night. But when he woke, he was alone. The pillow smelled just like him, but then again, so did Tom.

But he remembered whispers and feather light kisses and then waking to a chill without that warmth next to him. There were no messages or missed calls on his phone. He was about to call Chris when the screen blanked out. The battery was dead. He had charged it just yesterday before leaving with Chris. It should have lasted longer than that. Cursing, he left it on his desk to charge, and then went into the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth, frustrated about his phone and that he wasn’t able to text Chris to find out what happened. Why did he leave? Tom was positive they’d fallen asleep next to each other, their hands linked. And when he’d woken again sometime later, they were twined together, limbs and clothes askew.

About to leave the bathroom, he paused and looked closely in the mirror. The small hickey on his neck was a bit larger and darker than the previous night. It only showed when his sweater pulled too low to the side. He’s have to be careful to keep it concealed.

He ate breakfast with his parents, making up fake answers about which movies he and Chris had watched the night before and what kind of pizza they’d had. He kept fidgeting with his sweater, drawing it up if he felt it slip too low. Thinking of Chris, he pressed his thighs together just to feel the twinge from the dark bruise left there, remembering Chris’s face between his legs, biting hard. Clearing his throat, he drank some juice, hoping his red face would go unnoticed.

Once his parents left for work, Tom changed into some jeans, but kept Chris’s sweatshirt on, feeling with his fingertips the plastic lettering of their high school’s name and the white basketball emblazoned in the middle.

Powering on his phone, he saw that it had only charged halfway. But there was a missed call and a text from Chris.

_I had to leave early. I’m sorry, babe :( Call me and I’ll come get you. I miss you._

So he hadn’t dreamt it. And it sounded like Chris hadn’t wanted to leave. Tom felt his chest loosen a little.

Dialing his number, Tom waited but the call went to voicemail.

Scissoring open the blinds, he glanced out the window and saw his street was quiet, with no one around. The sprinklers in the neighbor’s yard sprang to life, spritzing water over the dead, yellow grass.

Moving before he lost his nerve, Tom tucked his phone into the front pocket of his jeans, planning on letting it fully charge later. He walked down the stairs carefully and locked the front door behind him, starting down the sidewalk. He wouldn’t have minded jogging to Chris’s house, but he was still sore, even after taking some pain tablets after breakfast. In any case, it was a beautiful morning and he looked forward to the stroll.

He was turning onto Chris’s street when he heard a twig snap behind him.

Spinning, his heart jumped in his throat. A dog in the yard across the street started barking, facing in the same direction as Tom, the way he’d just come from.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and sweat broke out over his skin, his eyes darting over the houses.

Tom hesitated, adamantly ignoring the need to run. A sudden anger sprang to the surface of his mind. While fear pumped through his veins, Tom refused to show how afraid he felt. Squaring his shoulders, he stood taller and pulled his hands out of his pockets.

“No,” he whispered, taking slow steps back, eyes narrowed on the street before him, trying to catch the slightest movement among the cars and hedges. But he saw nothing.

Willing himself to be brave, Tom turned slowly and took calm, confident steps, ignoring his instinct to sprint away. At Chris’s driveway, he stopped and turned back, breathing hard, realizing his hands were clenched into fists.

The front door opened and Chris ran out of the house. He finally looked up and stopped dead when he saw Tom on his front lawn, clearly not expecting him.

“Tom?”

Swallowing, Tom said nothing, just looked between Chris and the empty street behind him.

Hurrying down the drive, Chris took his arm. “Babe, what are you doing here? Where’s your phone? I’ve been calling you. I was just about to go—." He frowned and looked down at Tom’s arm. “You’re shaking.”

“You weren’t there,” Tom said, softly, squinting his eyes, searching the street. “You weren’t there and I thought I dreamt it and my phone died. So I left it charging when you must have called. I called back but it went to voicemail.” He turned to Chris. “You were so real. Were you there?”

Chris took him in his arms, hugging him tight. “Yes, babe. I was there. But I had to leave early.”

Tom pulled back. “Why?”

Blushing red, Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “Um. Because…well I—I woke up and—.”

“You were hard,” Tom said, realization dawning on him. “And you left because you didn’t want to wake me…to help you?”

Chris shook his head. “I didn’t want to pressure you to have sex again so soon. I know you’re sore and if you need more time, I wanted to give you that choice.”

“I was asleep. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I was a bit…unfocused…at the moment, Tom. I just needed to get out of there. Baby, I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.”

Tom shook his head, cupping Chris's cheek. “I’m not. Darling, I’m not. I was just confused. I didn’t know why.” His eyes drifted back up the street again slowly.

Chris looked too. “What is it? Why do you keep looking over there?”

“It’s just that…I thought I heard something behind me on my way here. And then this dog started barking just after and I—I wanted to run. But I didn’t. I just kept walking. I walked, Chris.”

Chris glanced down at Tom’s legs, eyes wide, and then up the street. “Holy shit. Come inside with me.”

He pulled Tom into the house and locked the door. Hugging him tight, Chris ran a hand through Tom’s hair. “Jesus, Tom. You should have called me from your house phone. I would have come to get you.”

Tom pulled away. “I don’t want to be afraid, Chris. I don’t want to be afraid to walk down my own damn street. To come see you. To come see you whenever I bloody well want to. He can’t stop me from doing that!”

“Babe, I know. I know that. I want that too. But we have to be careful. You remember the broken window, right? He almost took you that day! We can’t get careless, Tom.”

Tom sighed and sagged against him. “I remember every day. And sometimes at night, I remember it. And I _hate_ him for it.” Hot tears sprang to his eyes and he clutched at Chris harder.

“Babe…,” Chris murmured, rocking him. He kissed Tom’s forehead and took his hand, leading him up the stairs. "C'mon."

Sitting on his bed, Tom rubbed his face with both hands, sighing quietly. “I’m okay, Chris. I’m okay. I just got the creeps. It was probably nothing. Stupid.” He wiped at his tears, hating how scared and silly and frustrated he felt.

Chris knelt before him, using his thumbs to smear away the rest of them. “Stop that. I know what you’re thinking. And you’re not stupid.” His eyes lit up and he reached for something on his desk. It was a rose, petals open. “Before I forget, this is for you.”

Tom stared, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. He took the rose and smelled it. “Christopher…Thank you!” He laughed and squeezed Chris’s ear lightly. “You’re making me cry more, you big puppy.”

“You’re my puppy,” Chris said, laughing, kissing his nose lightly.

They embraced, lips meeting, moaning and pulling at each other. Falling back onto the bed, Chris helped Tom remove his sweatshirt and jeans, his own clothes following after.

The rose lay on the bed beside them. Tom touched it softly and smiled. He picked it up and, reaching for Chris, he took him in his arms and they kissed again. Tom tucked the rose behind Chris’s ear, smiling at how lovely he looked with the bright red bloom in his blond hair.

Twisting, he found his phone in the pocket of his jeans and fell back on the bed.

“Smile, my Christopher,” he said softly, cupping Chris’s blushing face, and snapping a picture. The rose tumbled off when they kissed again, writhing together, Tom’s legs widening for Chris, who cradled him close, sucking at his neck, his long fingers curling in Tom’s hair.

Parting only to grab a condom and the lube, they fell into their embrace again, fumbling to uncap the bottle, tear the plastic, whispers and pleas to hurry.

It was just like the night before, but Tom's senses felt even more heightened. The room was brighter and the air was cooler on their skin. Chris took his time stretching Tom, who winced at the first three fingers, slowly relaxing for the last one. His skin was shining with excess lube, chest and face flushed, smiling up at Chris lovingly.

“Look at this,” Chris said softly, thumb grazing the dark bruise on the inside of Tom’s thigh. “This is gorgeous,” he whispered, pressing down gently, watching Tom gasp and widen his legs.

When Chris pushed in, they both tensed, breath caught.

“Slow, slow… _slow_ , darling,” Tom whispered, eyes shut tight. Chris held Tom’s legs apart, knees bent, his body heat pouring over his skin.

He could feel Chris holding still above him. And then fingers on his face, running down the tip of his nose, thumb brushing his bottom lip. He opened his eyes. Chris’s expression was soft, his smile even softer, waiting.

Tom breathed in deep and then nodded.

Pushing in again, Chris sank into him inch by inch, stopping to pull back, sinking in again.

They groaned, the heat and tightness blinding to Chris, the stretch and sense of fullness overwhelming to Tom.

“Darling…you’re so…thick,” Tom breathed, head falling back on the bed, eyes fluttering. “Give me a moment, please, love. I love it so much…I need a…just a moment.”

Buried to the hilt, Chris eased his weight on Tom and cradled him, just as he always liked to do, wrapping his arm around Tom’s neck and back, kissing every part of his face and throat, moaning into his skin how beautiful Tom was.

“Move…Chris, move, please.”

A surge of energy lit Chris from within as he started a slow rhythm, eyes wide on Tom’s face, every gasp, every lip tremble, wince and whimper. Chris was riveted.

Tom’s lips were formed in a small ‘o’, small cries falling from them with every thrust Chris gave.

Leaning up on his hands, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward, their skin slapping loudly. Tom’s legs rose to wrap around his waist, crossing at the ankles.

He was only half hard, but Chris knew he needed to angle himself just right to hit that spot inside Tom that would make him come.

“Tell me where,” he rasped, arms trembling. “Tell me when you feel it.”

Tom’s eyes were half closed, but he nodded, licking his lips. He wriggled his hips and Chris paused, leaning back to give him room. Settled again, Tom nodded, his hands curving over his ass, and Chris slammed back in.

Tom cried out, back arching and Chris grinned widely.

“There it is, baby. Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Hang on.”

He set a harder pace, watching, fascinated, as Tom’s cock grew harder. It dripped a thin ribbon of pre-come, pooling on his stomach.

“Ch-Chris,” Tom gasped, Chris’s thrusts making him stammer. “Chris…fuck. Christopher, yes, darling, yes. Right there, oh god... _yes, yes_.”

Eyes rolling back, Tom’s entire body clenched, blood rushing to the surface of his skin, tainting it a beautiful pink. A heavy stream of come burst from his cock, pulsing out in long strings to land on his chest.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Chris groaned, watching Tom vibrate from the force of his orgasm, tightening around his cock. He stopped thrusting. Holding one side of Tom’s head, he whispered, “Breathe. Tom, breathe.”

Tom’s neck veins were straining, his face blooming with color. But he inhaled after a suspended moment, finally, and Chris smiled in relief.

Gasping, Tom clutched at him desperately, eyes wide and full of tears.

“Jesus Christ!” he whispered, laughing shakily, gulping in air. “Oh my god, Chris. That was…intense.”

Chris laughed, kissing him fast, trailing his lips to Tom’s cheek and nuzzling him. “That was amazing. It’s like you left me for a second there.”

Tom blushed again, looking up at him under his lashes.

Pulling back, Chris winced at how tight Tom was still, but he started his rhythm again and let the coiling he’d been feeling since before Tom climaxed release, finally.

He came with a grunt, Tom’s hands in his hair, comforting him. He pulsed and pulsed, thrusting again, needing to be further in, needing all of Tom.

Collapsing, they lay breathing hard, a pile of sweaty limbs and sighs. Chris pulled out carefully, leaving for a moment to throw away the condom. Crawling back, he kissed Tom’s stomach up to his mouth.

“I love you,” Chris murmured, pecking at Tom’s lips, small kisses that made Tom giggle.

“I love you, too. Puppy.”

Chris growled and attacked Tom’s neck with playful bites.

Tom laughed and twisted away, ticklish. “Stop! Christopher, no!” he shouted, squirming and laughing harder, but Chris just wrapped him closer, hugging him tight.

He buried his face in Tom’s neck and lay the softest kiss against his heartbeat.

“I love you, Tom,” he said again, softly, seriously.

Tom settled against him, brushing his hair back gently. “And I love you.”

The rose lay at the edge of the bed, catching the mid-day sun on its velvet petals, quietly, before Tom reached for it and pressed it to his chest, both breathing soft and calm.

**

They agreed to exchange gifts the night of Christmas Eve. That way they could spend the required time with their own families on Christmas Day before meeting up again in Tom’s room to sleep.

Tom helped his mother wash the dinner dishes, his eyes straying to the Christmas tree with its gathering of gifts beneath the green branches. The gifts for Chris were upstairs in his room under the bed. He’d placed everything in a gold box, tying a ribbon over the lid. He addressed it to ‘Puppy’ and signed it ‘xoxo’.

Some of his family members would be coming over the next day and the house would be filled with noise and food and people and music, torn wrapping paper littering the floor.

Chris would be at his own house with his own family, but Tom knew they would reunite at night, where he would be able to sleep and not dream. Hopefully.

Racing up the stairs after saying goodnight to his parents, Tom locked his door and set the gift box on the bedside table. Brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas, Tom waited with a book in hand, reading nothing.

When the lock on the window finally clicked, he sat up, a grin on his face. Chris’s head appeared behind the blinds, before he lifted them and climbed in under, setting them back into place quietly.

“Hi, babe,” he said, coming round the bed to kiss Tom. “Mmm, give me another one.”

Tom smiled and kissed him again.

The only light on was his desk lamp, casting most of the room in shadow but allowing them to see.

Chris carried his own box and set it on the bed next to them.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Tom nodded eagerly, handing Chris his gift. “Good. You go first.”

“No. You go first. Please.”

Chris tossed him a stern look, but looked down at the box in his hands. “Is it a book on Shakespeare?” He winked at him.

Tom laughed, covering his mouth. “No. I saved that for me.”

Chris untied the ribbon and removed the lid. Inside were two small packages, both wrapped in deep green tissue paper.

Tom nodded eagerly for him to continue, inching closer.

The first package revealed a set of what appeared to be thin elastic headbands, differently colored and with cute symbols like suns and stars and flowers.

“For my hair?” Chris asked, smiling at Tom, who nodded. “This is perfect! My hair is always getting in my eyes. Thank you, babe.” He unsnapped the plastic wrap that held the headbands together and took the pink one with purple hearts, stretching it to fit over his head. It held snugly at the top and around the nape of his neck.

Tom looked at him happily, reaching to touch the band securing his hair.

Chris loved them. And he loved that Tom had thought of him when he chose them. “You can’t borrow these from me,” he said seriously, tucking the remaining bands into the box. Tom giggled sweetly.

The second package was slightly heavier. In it were three items, each as beautiful as the first. Two necklaces, one silver with a lightning bolt, the other twined leather with a pendant of an ocean wave lay beside a bracelet of green and blue cloth strung together with a band of silver.

“Holy shit, babe. These are beautiful.” Tom smiled wide as Chris set the pieces of jewelry down and unclasped the one made of silver with the lightning bolt. He slipped it on over his head, careful not to dislodge his hair band, and touched it to his chest, fingering the bolt.

“Do you…like them?” Tom asked, a bit timidly, drawing his knees up and watching Chris closely.

“Like them? I love them, Tom. No one’s ever given me something like this. It’s always new basketballs or tennis shoes or socks or this one time, my uncle gave me a fish tank with no fish.”

Tom laughed, taking Chris’s hand and kissing his wrist softly. “Thank you, babe. I love them.”

“Good. I’m glad you like them.”

Tucking what he wasn’t wearing back into the box, Chris turned to Tom. “It’s your turn.”

Tom took a deep breath and began tearing the paper away gently. Chris watched him carefully, biting his lip.

Lifting the lid, the first thing he saw was a beautiful, leather-bound journal, it’s pages faux-brittle and tinted a light yellow. Tom gasped, feeling the softness of its covers, the creamy sheets between. “Oh, Chris. This is…gorgeous.” He looked up at him. “Thank you.”

Chris nodded and pointed. “There’s more.”

Swallowing, Tom set the journal aside and peered into the box. It was the novel he’d mentioned to Chris months ago that he wanted to read. “You remembered!” He leaned across and kissed him. “I’m so excited, thank you!” Next was a gorgeous gray scarf, soft like silk, but not made of it.

“The guy told me it’s cashmere. I hope you like it,” Chris said, looking down a bit bashfully.

“I love it,” Tom whispered, letting the material slip through his fingers, like the softest cloud.

When he looked into the box again, he froze. There was a smaller red box at the bottom, wrapped in silver ribbon. Looking questioningly at Chris, he lifted the small box and set it on his lap.

“What is it?” he heard himself asking, thumbs slipping the ribbon over the edges, letting it fall loose.

Chris said nothing, but he wrung his hands a bit, nervous.

Inside the box were three bottles of nail polish, all resting on crumpled red gift paper. One was dark purple with gold specks, the other a creamy, pearly blue, and the last one a light pink.

Tom’s throat closed up on him and he blinked to clear his vision. Tears rose to his eyes and he swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching on the edges of the box.

Raising his head, he looked at Chris. “You remembered,” he whispered again, much quieter.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, his face red. “Yeah, well. I mean, I just thought you’d like it. And well, I remember you were looking at some other colors and you know, if you really like them, we can always go back and get you more—.”

He was cut off when Tom threw himself across the space between them and wrapped his arms around Chris’s neck.

“Thank you,” he breathed, body shaking with a tiny sob. “Thank you, Chris. I love them.”

Chris hugged him back. “You’re welcome,” he said, voice muffled in Tom’s shirt. They looked at each other. “I want to see you happy. And smiling. I love you. You deserve the world. I will try to give it all to you.”

Tearing up, Tom smiled and sniffed. “I adore you, Christopher.”

Chris shook his head. “Not as much as I adore you.”

Packing away their gifts with giddy smiles and quick kisses, Tom lining up his nail polishes on the edge of his desk so he could look at them, they got ready for bed. Removing jeans and shoes, they crawled under the blankets, clad in just their boxers, bare-chested, knowing their self-made cocoon of body heat would keep them warm.

Tom caressed Chris’s cheek, looking up at him in the faint moonlight peeking in behind the curtains.

“Merry Christmas, Christopher.”

Chris pulled him closer. “Merry Christmas, Tom.”

Sighing quietly, they burrowed deeper and closed themselves off from the quietly humming darkness.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for your patience :) 
> 
> And thank you to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan. You are amazing <3

Chris snuck out of Tom’s room just before dawn on Christmas day. He had to spend time with his family, but promised to be back at Tom’s house that afternoon to help bake cookies.

“Another, another,” Chris whispered, half hanging out the window, the cold air curling over their sleep-warmed limbs.

Tom kissed him again and again, tucking Chris’s hair behind his ears as he descended the ladder, letting his fingers trace under his jaw until he was out of reach.

He watched as Chris vanished around the corner, his gifts tucked safely into his back pockets.

Tom fell back into bed, still warm from their bodies. Pulling the blanket tight around him, he stared at the bottles of nail polish lined up neatly at the edge of his desk. He still couldn't believe Chris remembered how Tom had shown interest in them, much less remembered the colors.

He was giddy with the knowledge that he would try them soon, wondering what it would feel like to swipe the polish-soaked brush over his blunt nails, the chemical scent rising to his nostrils as he fanned his hands to dry them. Chris probably didn’t think to get him nail polish remover and cotton balls, but Tom could borrow his mom’s if he needed to. He knew she wouldn’t mind. At least until he purchased his own.

Falling asleep was easy with a smile on his face and his pillow smelling of his boyfriend’s skin.

A few hours later, Tom stretched himself awake and slipped out of bed.

Stumbling to the bathroom, he showered and shaved the soft whiskers peppering his jaw. He dressed in a nicer pair of dark blue jeans and a thin red shirt, rubbing lotion onto his face before leaving his room.

Barefoot, he tried his best not to limp down the stairs, keeping an ear open for any new voices, but it appeared no outside family had arrived yet.

His mother was in the kitchen, and he greeted her with a ‘Merry Christmas’ and a hard hug. He helped with the big meal she had planned, chopping vegetables and coating the rolls with glazed honey while she set the juicy roast in the oven. He prepared iced tea and dug up cases of soda from the garage to set in ice.

“Chris will be by later,” he mentioned, folding knives and forks into their nice linen napkins. “We’re going to bake cookies. Dozens of them.” He smiled, rolling the napkins with care.

“That sounds great!” his mother said, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. “It’ll be nice to have some treats for later on this evening. I just know they’ll be delicious.”

With everything simmering and ready to serve, Tom sat in front of the Christmas tree and rearranged the gifts to look more presentable and organized. There were gifts for his younger cousins and one for each of his mom’s two sisters and his dad’s two brothers. There were a few for him, too, and he smiled, wondering what his parents had gotten for him.

After the rest of his family arrived and bundled into the house, trailing a wake of cold after them, everyone hugged and kissed and shouted updates of their lives.

Presents were opened almost immediately. Wrapping paper and shiny bows and coiled ribbon were strewn everywhere and Tom went around picking up as best he could, exclaiming excitedly when his younger cousins rushed up to him with their new toys and clothes.

He put his gifts aside to open later.

When everyone moved into the dining room, he helped his mother serve the plates and filled all the glasses with fresh iced tea.

Amid cutlery scrapes and children’s shrieks and the lower tones of the adults, Tom’s mind wandered to Chris, wondering what he was doing, if he had opened his gifts yet, if he’d eaten and was lounging on the sofa, his long legs spread wide before him.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Chris sent him a text a few minutes later.

_So many sloppy wet aunt kisses. I want yours instead._

Tom laughed quietly, his face turning red.

_So come and get them._

He could practically hear Chris growl with his next message.

_Just you wait._

“Who’s got that big grin on your face, Thomas?” his aunt Helen said, leaning over and peeking over his shoulder. “Your girlfriend?”

Tom quickly stuffed his phone back into his pocket and looked at her with a sheepish smile.

“No. Not my girlfriend. Did you want some more tea?” he asked, standing and taking her glass. He caught his father’s look at the end, surrounded by his brothers, his kind smile and twinkling eyes, full of love and a quiet sense of understanding, just before he disappeared into the kitchen.

Tom sighed and stood at the counter, topping the glass with more tea. Even if his parents knew about his sexuality, Tom hadn’t exactly broadcasted it to the rest of his family. He just didn’t see how it mattered. Why would anyone care?

Still. He wasn’t ashamed of himself and he certainly wasn’t ashamed of Christopher. It was a knee jerk reaction avoiding his aunt’s line of questioning. He promised himself he wouldn’t avoid something like that again.

Gripping the glass, he wiped down the counter and returned to the table.

Later, Tom was washing dishes when the doorbell rang.

“Mom! Can you get that?”

He heard her reply from somewhere in the living room. He tried to crane his neck to see who it was but it was no use. Continuing to scrub at the dishes, he wiped at a soap bubble that had floated and clung to his cheek.

“Babe,” he heard behind him, a pair of lips kissing the back of his neck.

Even though he recognized the endearment and voice as belonging only to Chris, Tom couldn't avoid jumping in surprise. The plate he was holding clattered loudly to the bottom of the sink, rolling on its rim, thankfully unbroken.

Chris tightened his arm over Tom’s chest, holding him tight.

“It’s me, it’s me. Baby, it’s me,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the back of Tom’s head.

He could feel Tom’s heart pounding fast beneath his palm.

Tom shut the water off slowly, swallowing back his already receding fear. There was no way it could have been _him_. Not here in his home, where he was safe with his family. He couldn't reach him here.

Tom quickly wiped his soapy hands on a dishtowel and turned fast, throwing his arms around Chris's neck.

Chris caught him, breathing in his ear. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

"You're not," Tom whispered fiercely. "I'm sorry I'm so jumpy."

Chris palmed Tom's skull and kissed the top of his head. "Don't ever fucking apologize for that, Tom. You have every right to be."

They stayed there hugging by the sink until they heard someone walk into the kitchen behind them.

"Merry Christmas, Chris! I'm so glad you could join us today,” Tom’s mother said with a smile. “How is your family?"

Chris turned to her, but still kept Tom under his arm. "Great. Very happy over there at the Hemsworth's. Merry Christmas!"

“Good. Please feel free to eat, there’s plenty of food! We’ll be watching home movies most of the afternoon.” She shrugged happily. “It’s tradition, I guess. You’re more than welcome to join.”

He thanked her and she returned to the living room. Chris pulled Tom close again. “Let me help you with these dishes and then…?”

Tom smiled against his neck. “Baking!”

He caught the flash of silver at the collar of Chris’s T-shirt and tugged it low.

“You’re wearing it,” he whispered, fingering the long silver lightning bolt necklace.

“Of course,” Chris said, pulling the chain so it rested on the outside of his shirt. “I love it. I wanted to wear the bracelet too, but I don’t want to get it dirty with the baking.”

Tom smiled and brought the end of the necklace to his lips, kissing it softly.

He had everything ready for both chocolate chip and sugar cookies, with red and green metal cookie cutters in the shape of Santa Claus, reindeer, and Christmas trees. There were tubes of frosting and red and green sprinkles to decorate with once the cookies were cool.

With his family chatting and laughing in the living room, he and Chris made the kitchen their small haven of warmth and the wafting smell of sugar and dough.

Tom bent double from laughter when Chris accidentally squeezed the bag of flour too hard and a cloud of it burst over his face.

“Come here!” he said, as Tom dodged but let himself be caught, giggling quietly when Chris left flour-laced kisses on his cheeks.

Tom kept taking small bites of the cookie dough, until Chris snatched his hand away and kissed his sticky mouth, exclaiming, “There won’t be any left, you silly puppy.”

Chris prepped the oven and Tom brought out the cookie sheets. Dirtying their hands with moist and gooey dough, they used a roller to thin it out and then cut the shapes, tearing away the excess dough from the sheet. They set the timer and cleaned up, washing the dishes and utensils they’d used. Their soapy hands bumped together in the stream of water, the sponge passing between them easily, Chris leaning over to steal kisses. He caught Tom’s earlobe between his teeth and Tom gasped. Pulling back, he turned wide eyes to Chris, who was tossed him a wolfish grin and winked.

“Chris…,” he whispered, leaning in, but Chris met him halfway with a chaste kiss.

“Not yet, baby.” He slid his lips to Tom’s neck and lay another kiss there. “Not yet, not yet. I love you.”

Tom gulped, eyes shifting to the kitchen entrance, through which any one of his family members might come wandering in.

He nodded, blinking fast, trying to rein in his desire. Thinking of sugar cookies and sweet summer grass and thunderstorms, Tom collected himself, his hands shaking slightly as he finished rinsing the dishes.

“I feel it, too,” Chris whispered, a smile in his voice. “I can’t wait.”

The oven beeped and Tom let out a sigh of relief, drying his hands quickly. Chris put on some thick mitts and they pulled out the golden brown cookies.

“Oh my god,” Chris practically whimpered, biting his lip. “I’m going to eat them all!”

“You better not!” Tom laughed, poking him in the ribs.

Chris dropped the cookie sheets on the counter and then grabbed Tom around the waist, oven mitts and all, seeking his lips.

“It’s smells so good in here!” came a tiny voice from the doorway.

They jumped apart, Chris letting Tom go so fast Tom stumbled against the counter. The muscle in Chris’s jaw ticked as he clenched it tight, face blooming with color.

Touching Chris’s elbow gently, Tom turned to see his youngest cousin, six-year-old Anna, standing in her beautiful white lace dress and cream stockings, her red velvet ribbon crooked in her hair.

“That’s because we just finished baking cookies!” Tom said, squatting to her level. “Do you want to help us decorate them?”

She nodded eagerly and ran to him.

“This is Chris, by the way,” he said, lifting her to the counter, where she folded her legs under her and listened patiently. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Hello, Chris. My name is Anna. You’re so pretty,” she said, holding her fingers to her mouth, her eyes crinkling.

“Well, thank you,” Chris said, caught a bit off guard. “So are you! And that’s a beautiful name you have.”

She grinned and giggled sweetly, her eyes dropping to the cooling cookies.

It was a slow process but they managed to get them all decorated without any major messes, aside from a small drop of green frosting on the edge of her dress that Chris was quick to press a hot cloth to. It was barely noticeable and they all held a finger to their lips, giggling quietly, Anna absolutely delighted to have a secret to share with the two boys.

They sent her off into the living room with a plate full of cookies to pass out to everyone and he and Chris stayed behind, eyes falling on each other almost immediately. Two seconds ticked by and then Chris was grabbing Tom’s wrist and dragging him from the kitchen. They snuck past the doorway into the living room and ran around the staircase.

Closing the guest bathroom door behind him, Chris pulled Tom to him, their kiss hard and desperate. Tongues wrestled and fingers unbuttoned and unzipped and reached and squeezed.

Tom gasped, breaking the kiss. “Chris…are we really—?”

“Yes,” came the growled response, and Tom nodded quickly, turning and leaning his hands against the sink.

Chris stilled behind him. “We’ve never done it like this before.”

“I know,” Tom said, voice gone. “But we c-can, don’t you think? Try it, at least? I always love watching it done this way online.”

Chris gaped at him, breathing heavily.

“Darling, hurry. Chris, please.”

Snapping out of it, Chris kissed Tom’s shoulder. “I fucking love you.”

He brought out the small packet of lube and a condom from his back pocket and tore both open.

“Where did you get that?” Tom asked, looking over his shoulder at the packet of lube.

“Bought them.”

“So much more convenient. We need to stash some of those in my room.”

“Yes. Yes, yes. I completely agree.”

Tom laughed quietly, smiling sweetly at him in the mirror.

Chris’s heart skipped a beat and he bent forward to kiss Tom’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

Dragging Tom’s jeans and boxers down past his hips, Chris was quick to smear the lube over Tom’s entrance and slow to stick the first finger in. Tom winced, watching Chris in the mirror, his own face red, a green stripe of frosting running parallel on his jaw. When had that happened?

All thoughts of the frosting fled his mind when Chris removed his fingers to put the condom on.

Tom’s heart was racing. Anyone could knock on the door at any time. What would they say? What would they hear?

“We can’t be loud,” he whispered, licking his lips. “You can’t let me be loud. Chris. You’re not very loud, but I think I am and if someone hears…”

Chris fell back over him, covering him from head to foot. “They won’t, baby. I love the sounds you make. Turn me on so much.”

Tom whimpered and held still as Chris nudged at his entrance.

Chris ran his hands down the front of Tom’s stomach and passed his hips, curving them toward his inner thighs to spread Tom’s legs a little further. Steadying Tom with a hand to the back of his neck and the other guiding his cock in, Chris held his breath, pulse accelerating as he sank deeper and deeper. Tom bit his lip, but he whimpered as he was opened little by little, the stretch burning and sweet. His hand inched to his cock.

Once fully seated, they both exhaled, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Leaning back over Tom, Chris wrapped an arm over his shoulder and across his collarbones, his other hand snaking to Tom’s cock, hard already.

The angle was different from behind and Chris found that he liked it a lot, sinking in just a bit deeper than before. Judging from the flushed and heavy-lidded look on Tom’s face, he figured he liked it too.

“Okay?”

Tom nodded and pushed back with his hips.

“Let me taste,” Chris whispered and licked at the frosting on Tom’s jaw, starting to thrust slowly. Tom moaned and then shut his mouth tight, trying so hard not to make any noise.

Chris went harder, a little faster, Tom’s body sheathing him so tightly.

A small knock.

“Tom, are you in there?”

They both froze and turned to the door. It was Anna.

Stammering, Tom raised his voice a bit. “Y-yes, sweetie. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Where’s pretty Chris?”

Chris rolled his hips slowly and Tom gasped, gripping the edge of the sink painfully. “He-he took some cookies to his parents down the street. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you go look out the front window to see when he’s coming!”

Chris chuckled as Anna bounded away with an excited, “Okay!”

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Tom gasped, hanging his head and breathing out shakily.

“I love it when you swear and I’m in you, babe.”

“Don’t fucking stop,” Tom whispered and smiled.

Chris picked up the pace again, making sure not to slam into Tom too hard and make their skin slap loudly. Although he loved the sound of it so much and fully planned on doing just that next time they were alone again, they needed to make this quick and noiseless.

But even Chris was finding it hard not to want to grunt his pleasure. This position was…amazing. He wouldn’t be able to see Tom’s face, though. The mirror helped this time, but Chris wanted to see him more than anything.

He adored watching the many emotions flit over Tom’s features, lips parting, brows drawing close, the lashes curled as he met Chris’s eyes. Or the way all the blushes bloomed over his skin, making the freckles on his neck stand out darker, making Chris’s mouth water, wanting to bite.

Especially now, taking him half-clothed, Tom bent over the sink, his lips resolutely shut tight to avoid crying out.

“I’m close,” Chris gasped, hand flexing on Tom’s throat.

“Me, too.”

And as Chris pushed Tom a little lower on the sink, his hips slamming in at a slightly different angle, Tom gasped again and a small moan slipped out.

 _“Chri_ s _,_ ” he breathed, crying out softly with every thrust, body rocking to the pace he set. 

Chris eyed the door nervously.

Reaching over Tom’s shoulder, he lay his hand gently over his mouth. “Quiet, baby. Easy now.”

Neck bent back, Tom’s eyes were fluttering closed in the mirror, his moans muted and cut short with every thrust. Chris could feel the low coiling in his belly, hot and insistent.

But Tom beat him to it.

His brows furrowed, Tom cried out into the tight web of Chris’s fingers, hands grappling on the surface of the sink, his body tightening, vibrating around Chris. His orgasm triggered Chris’s and, unable to thrust again, Chris came hard, pressing his mouth to the smooth curve of Tom's spine, stifling his small groan there.

Pulling Tom to him, Chris mouthed at his neck, trailing his lips to kiss his cheek softly, their bodies trembling.

“I love you,” Tom whispered, smiling lazily. He could feel the cold sting of the lightning bolt chain trailing over his back. “God, I love you.”

“I love you more. So much, my heart. Hold still, okay?” He gripped Tom’s hip as he slid out.

“Slow,” Tom said softly, wincing. “Slow, slow.”

Once out, he cupped his hand over Tom’s bottom, soothing him.

Removing the condom, he tied it and wrapped it in toilet paper, dropping it in the wastebasket. Tom was pulling his boxers up and Chris moved to help him, drawing up his jeans.

When they were fully dressed, Tom opened the cabinet beneath the sink and took a few antibacterial cleaning cloths and wiped down the counter where he’d spilled.

“I should go out first,” Tom said, washing his hands. Chris nodded and washed his hands too. “Meet me in the kitchen, love.”

Kissing each other quickly, Tom peeked his head out the door and then slipped out, his grinning face the last thing Chris saw before the door closed with a soft click.

He leaned against the wall, the towel rack jamming into his back, but he hardly noticed. His heart was hammering, images of Tom bouncing in the mirror, his moans curling sweetly around Chris’s mind, drugging him.

He bent over, hand clapped over his mouth, laughing noiselessly, his heart bursting with all that he felt for Tom, all that he would do to keep him safe.

**

_I can’t believe we did that!_

Tom smothered another laugh as he sent the text, snuggling deeper into his blankets. He was waiting for Chris to climb into his room. The house was so quiet after the cheerful ruckus caused by his visiting relatives. But everything was done with. The dishes were washed and put away, the wrapping paper crumpled put and disposed of, the left over cookies soft in a plastic container on the kitchen table.

Chris replied almost immediately.

_I can’t wait to do it again._

Tom blushed because he really couldn’t either. There was a much more defined power that emanated from Chris when he took Tom from behind, a more intimate sense of vulnerability that he gladly shared with Chris, only Chris. It stole his breath, this deeper, darker current of want that coiled itself around Tom’s bones, bending him to a will they both were taking brave steps to identify.

After he and Chris stole themselves away for a few minutes in the downstairs bathroom, Tom was pretty sure he was floating on air from place to place, his smile wide and face flushed, collecting Anna from the front window and guiding her into the kitchen with a promise of more cookies. Chris, when he joined them minutes later, kept a steady watch on Tom, eyes crinkled in amusement, arms folded over his chest.

Now he waited for him, eyes on the curtains. He’d left the window unlocked. Chris could flip the lever on the outside and crawl in, like always.

And when he did, only minutes later, Tom took him into his arms, smelling the crisp chill clinging to his skin, smoothing away the ice flakes from his hair and kissing warmth back into his lips, their limbs loosening one whispered adoration at a time.

**

 New Year’s Eve found Chris and Tom on the floor of Tom’s living room, reclining against the sofa seat. The television was blaring pre-midnight festivities broadcast from Times Square in New York City. The glittery hats and glasses shaped to match the coming New Year, the live musical performances and celebrity interviews, all had Tom giddy with excitement. He hoped he could travel to such beautiful places sometime in his life.

He squeezed Chris’s hand, wanting Chris to be with him every step of the way.

“How much time is left?” Tom’s mother called from the dining room table, where she, Tom’s dad, and Chris’s dad were all sitting drinking coffee.

"Another fifteen minutes before the ball drops!" Tom answered, scooting closer to Chris and laughing behind his hand.

"You're the cutest," Chris said, stealing a kiss.

Tom winked and stole one back.

Chris and his father had been invited by Tom and his parents to spend New Year’s Eve with them. Chris had mentioned that his mother would be working at the hospital that night, and Tom suggested they spend the time at his house instead of alone.

Mr. Hemsworth brought a loaf of pumpkin bread that Tom’s dad immediately opened for a slice each.

Their parents spent the evening at the table, talking quietly. Tom glanced over at them every now and then, smiling. Chris’s father was in the middle of some kind of story, waving his hands around, Tom’s parents laughing with him.

"They seem to be really getting along," Tom whispered. Chris looked into the kitchen and nodded.

"I always knew they would. It's about time they met, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry your mom couldn't be here with us."

"It's okay. Next time she will be."

They all gathered in the living room as the seconds ticked by at the end of the night, the grip each boy had on the other's hand growing tighter, their grins widening, their eyes trailing to catch each other's gazes as the new year was finally born with a spectacular bursting of fireworks and a giant glittering ball of light.

They jumped into each other's arms, Chris lifting Tom off his feet, laughing and twirling him in a small circle. Tom pulled back, still held aloft, and kissed Chris, softly. Slowly.

They forgot about their parents until one of them cleared their throats with a smile and they broke apart, Chris setting Tom down with a sheepish grin.

Hugging each one in turn, they finally settled back against each other, Tom's back to Chris's front, swaying, watching the cheer and screaming taking place on screen. Some rock back took the stage loudly, the thousands gathered singing along

At the door a while later, Tom’s dad shook Mr. Hemsworth’s hand. "It was so wonderful to meet you, Craig."

"Yes, please, we must do this again. We would love to meet your wife," Tom's mom said. "We'll plan a dinner."

"Absolutely," Mr. Hemsworth said, nodding. "Count us in. We'll bring something." He clapped Chris on the shoulder and left them with a warm smile.

Just before leaving, Chris winked and kissed Tom on the cheek, wishing him a goodnight and that he'd see him tomorrow.

In bed after helping clean up, brushing his teeth and staring at the love marks on his body, Tom lay quietly, heart pounding in slowly building euphoria, feeling both claimed and possessor, and unable to decide which felt better. There was a more daring sense of self sprouting within Tom, a beautiful reminder of his brave attempt to love for the first time.

He had stars in his blood and blossoms blooming behind his ribcage, smiling when the window lock clicked and, with the night black behind him, there appeared his sun.

**

The last week of winter break passed in a love-dazed whirl. They spent their days at the mall, or at the movies, or at their favorite pizza place, wishing the hours would slow, the week would grow longer, that they didn't have to return to school and the hectic schedule and the busy nights and the hours away from each other and that person they both hated.

But once night crept up on them, they didn't hesitate to embrace it, drawing close to each other under Tom's blankets, smelling so much of Chris now as they did of him. Sometimes, Tom would surprise Chris with the strawberry lip gloss, rolling it on once he knew Chris was on his way. Homing in on Tom as soon as he climbed over the window frame, Chris would smother him with kisses, inhaling deep and smearing the gloss until it was on both their lips, gleaming. They kept quiet as they writhed together, Chris spreading Tom's legs with his thighs, sinking into him after the short tear of the lube packet, long fingers searching and stretching, Tom's tiny gasps swallowed by his waiting mouth.

And other times they lay quietly, clasping each other, talking softly.

“Have you received any acceptance letters?”

“No. I would have told you.”

“I haven’t either. But we applied to all the same places. One of them has to accept us both.”

“But what if they don’t?”

Chris squeezed him, kissing his forehead. “They will.”

They were quiet. And then, “We can live together.”

Tom lifted his head, trying to see the look on Chris’s face, but the dark only granted him a view of his profile, long lashes blinking. Chris licked his lips and continued.

“We can rent someplace small, close to campus. And work on campus, too. Student jobs are the best, I’ve heard. We can study together. Spend all weekend at the library because home alone together…I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

He tickled Tom’s ribs and Tom giggled, wiggling closer.

“Go to parties and get drunk together. Only, I wouldn’t get drunk with you. I would watch out for you. And you watch out for me. Because there’s no one else I could ever trust your life with.”

Tom traced his jaw, listening. Chris fell silent.

“And we can travel,” Tom whispered. “By plane. Or car…or even a train! All over this world. To see it all with you.”

Chris looked down at Tom, cupping his face. “Or maybe even a bike trip to the park, roll around in the grass. Pick a flower for you.”

Tears swam in Tom’s eyes, seeing it all so clearly, confident it would be so. “Promise me we’ll try, Christopher. Promise me.”

Chris kissed him, Tom’s tears gathering at their lips. “We won’t just try. We’ll do it. I promise.”

**

The last day of their winter break was unusually warm and sunny.

Dressed in a light sweaters and jeans, they lounged on lawn chairs in Tom’s back yard. The sky was painfully bright, with sharp white clouds and no wind.

Chris had his shades on, tossing a basketball ball in the air, catching it smoothly in one hand. Tom eyed his nails, flicking the blunt edges against each other, an idea forming in his mind.

“Be right back,” he said, jumping up and running into the house.

“Where are you going?” Chris yelled, sitting up.

Tom just smiled and ran faster.

He returned with something cradled against his stomach. Sitting back on his lawn chair, he lined up his bottles of polish in front of him and stared at them.

Chris pulled his chair closer, eyes obscured behind his dark shades.

“Which one are you going to use?”

Tom laughed nervously. “I’m not sure!” After a moment, he picked up the light pink. “I want to paint just my thumbs. To see how it feels. And looks.”

Chris let his basketball roll away. “Can I paint your toenails?”

Tom snapped his head up, eyes widening. “You really want to?”

Chris laughed. “Yes! But,” he said, holding up a finger. “I get to choose the color.”

Tom felt his face get warm. “Okay.”

They repositioned themselves. Tom sat back with his knees pressed to his chest and Chris sat straddling the end of the chair. He wrapped his fingers around Tom’s ankles, and squeezed gently. “Ready?”

Tom smiled and nodded.

“Don’t peek.”

He giggled and held still, unable to see which color Chris chose as he bent over his toes. Tom’s face was bright red as he held his fingertips to his mouth, trying not to squirm when he felt the distinctive slide of something wet over his big toe. He occasionally felt the rougher texture of Chris’s finger as he swiped at excess polish. He was muttering under his breath, something about it being harder than it looked.

“Once…or twice?” he asked, looking up. Tom peeked at him over his knees.

“Two. I think you’re supposed to do two.”

When he finished, Tom made a sly attempt to look, but Chris stopped him with a hand on his shin. “Let them dry! Here. While we wait, you can paint your thumbs.”

He handed all three bottles to Tom, who stared at each in turn. He uncapped the light pink one and set the rest aside. Chris smiled at him.

He shook the bottle and Chris’s smile died slowly.

“Was I supposed to shake it?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. I always see my mom do this.”

The brush felt heavy between his fingers, but he gripped the cap as he would a pencil, holding his other hand steady on his knees. Slowly, tongue peeking out between his teeth, he slid the wet brush over his square nail, from bottom to top and watched as the thick paint held strong in the bubbled stripe he made.

“More…” Chris whispered, arching his neck, fascinated. Tom hurried to soak the tip again and repeat the process. He evened out the color as much as he could, getting only a few small specks on his skin.

He held his hand high, smiling at the bright pink color two coats made when combined. It looked stark against his pale skin. It looked, well, lovely.

His other hand proved more difficult. The cap felt as foreign in his left hand as a writing implement would, so he gripped it a bit tighter, frowning when the brush angled out, smearing the polish over his skin.

“Damn,” he muttered, and moved to wipe it off his cuticle.

“Let me,” Chris said, taking his hand and using his nail to scrape away the unwanted polish. Tom caught other splotches of the pink color on his fingers, and smiled, knowing which color he had used on his toes. “There,” Chris said, returning his hand.

Tom tried again, this time with a bit more success. Once the color matched his right hand, he held them both up and admired this thumbs.

“I love them,” he whispered, wanting to paint his other fingernails, too, but deciding to wait it out. "Can I see them now?" he asked, wiggling his toes.

"Yes, babe. You can see them now."

He sat up and let his knees part, eyes drifting to where his toes gleamed brightly, matching perfectly with the pink of his thumbs.

"I knew it," he whispered, grinning at Chris.

"You knew nothing!" Chris said, laughing, and leaned in for a kiss.

They giggled and then Chris pushed between his legs and growled at his throat. "You'll smear them!" he shouted, holding his legs wide and his hands high.

Chris nipped playfully at his neck and they fell together against the back of the lawn chair, the sky a blinding sheet of white over their bent heads.

**

Waiting by the curb on the first day back at school, Tom shivered in his black sweater. He had the gray scarf Chris got him for Christmas wrapped around his neck, his nose and mouth covered by a thin flap of it.

When Chris pulled up in his car, Tom jumped in and leaned over for a kiss.

"Good morning, love," he said, buckling himself in and stuffing his hands in his armpits.

"Morning, babe," Chris said, turning and starting toward school. He cranked the heat up and rubbed Tom's knee softly. "Just four more months."

Tom grumbled. "I know, I know."

"What are we not going to do this semester?"

It was a running joke with them, used whenever they were trying to lighten each other's moods.

"Get bit by a spider," Tom mumbled, staring out the window.

Chris smiled. "And I'll try not to get into any more fights. Promise?"

"Promise."

"I promise too."

Tom smiled at him, and then narrowed his eyes as the school came into view. He hoped this semester went by quickly. He was ready for what came after.

**

Walking in through the front doors, hands gripped tight, jostled on all sides by students rushing to class, was a bit surreal for Tom. He already missed the lazy days of winter break, nearly every hour spent together, punctuated by moments of giddy laughter and tickle fights and stifled groans and making out and making love. Back were the stressful hours of studying and writing term papers and memorizing and being tested on it all and avoiding Shaw’s gaze.

Pushing him out of his mind, Tom looked down at their clasped hands, and smiled. He kept the thumb of his free hand tucked into his palm, a secret only Chris was privy to.

After Chris left his room that morning, Tom had stared down at his toes, pink and shiny, reaching down to feel how smooth they were.

Tom smiled at the memory of them, hidden now in his shoes.

Most of the day went by smoothly. More assignments and more notes and lectures and taking quick peeks at his thumbs, hiding them quickly again.

Lunch was a relaxed change of pace from the brutal grind of schoolwork. Jaime and Daniel joined them, along with Jason and Julie, sharing what they'd gotten for Christmas.

“First game is Friday, Hems,” Jaime said, snagging a tater tot off Daniel’s plate when he wasn’t looking. “You ready?”

Chris smirked. “Definitely. I’ve been taking it easy on you guys.”

They started off on talk about plays and drills and their opponent, so Tom turned to Jason.

“How was work?”

“Oh, fine. This lovely young lady visited me quite a bit over the break and kept me entertained,” he said, laying his arm over Julie’s shoulders. She blushed and nodded.

“I just had to get out of my house,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Only so much you can read before going mad. Are you ready for the new play, Tom?”

“Do you know what it is yet?”

“No. But Jason thinks it’ll be a musical.”

Jason shrugged. “Just a hunch. Most spring plays are.”

When the others were talking amongst themselves, Chris leaned in and whispered in Tom’s ear. “He was looking at me funny in class.”

“Like how?” Tom said, knowing exactly who Chris meant.

Chris looked off, thinking. “I don’t know. Like…angry. I’d catch him staring, and then he’d look away, his jaw tight as shit.”

Tom frowned. “I wonder what that means.”

Chris pulled Tom close, kissing his ear. “It means that he’s jealous as fuck and wishes I were dead.”

“No!” Tom whispered, voice low. “Don’t say that.”

Chris winked. “I’m not going anywhere, puppy.”

Tom blinked, but nodded anyway, knowing Chris was right. It was a ridiculous thought. But something about it had him unsettled, turning back to his food, now tasteless. Something about his firm belief that Shaw would stop at nothing to get his way. And the only thing in his way, when Tom thought about it…was Chris.

The bell rang and they stood to dispose of their trays. Tom was reluctant to let Chris’s hand go when they parted ways in the hall.

“I’ll be waiting for you after math, just like before.”

Tom nodded and then kissed him on the mouth, fast.

Someone wolf whistled down the hall, but they ignored it. When Tom broke away, Chris was flushed a light pink.

“Are you okay, babe?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“I love you too. You don’t have to be afraid. Okay?”

Tom nodded, letting their fingers linger together before letting go and walking into Shaw’s class.

**

There was someone in his seat. Glancing around, he saw that most of the seats were already filled, except for a few directly in front of Shaw’s desk. There were little white cards on each of them, and Tom saw his name on the one closest to Shaw.

_Tom H._

It was written in blue ink, careful and in cursive.

“Found your seat, Tom?”

Tom flinched when he heard that voice, Shaw coming to stand beside him. His mind flashed back to the last time he’d heard it, slammed against the concrete wall outside the gymnasium, the day cold and bitter.

_You little bitch._

Tom blinked when Shaw spoke again, voice cheerful.

“I needed to assign seats because the students were particularly unruly last semester.” He left it at that and walked away.

Tom was the farthest from the door now. He would most likely be the last one out of the class because of it.

He sat down, swallowing past the bile that had risen in his throat, letting his backpack settle on the floor by his feet. He eyed the other note Shaw had left on the top of his desk, folded in half.

As Shaw began his lecture, the other students settling into their seats with the loud rustle of paper and dying chatter, Tom held the note down by his lap to read.

_See me after class. We need to discuss your grade._

Tom knew that Shaw had a free period after this class. Used it for grading papers and planning lessons. And now he wanted Tom to stay.

Tom’s gaze shifted to the door, and farther beyond that across the many hallways, to wherever he imagined Chris might be, so far from him. And then he looked at Shaw, standing at the front of the class, writing an equation on the board, rambling on about this or that rule.

Shaw, who turned at that moment and caught Tom’s eyes, and smiled.

Trying to quell his nausea, Tom tucked his thumbs into his palms, sinking lower in his seat, and waited out the hour.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan <3
> 
> And thank you to all the readers! You're so kind and wonderful!

Chris eyed the second hand on the clock on the back wall of the classroom, counting down to when the bell would ring. He’d taken some notes, but his thoughts had strayed to Tom most of the hour. The triangle of freckles on his neck, the small spots of cinnamon in his blue eyes, the way his hands always caressed his face when Chris’s climax washed over him, the small murmurs in his ear to soothe him.

Watching him in the bathroom mirror.

He blinked, forcing those thoughts out of his mind, not wanting to embarrass himself.

As soon as the bell sounded over the intercom system, he was springing to his feet, backpack slung over his shoulders. Tom’s class was just down the hall, but it filled with people fast. Bypassing students huddled over phones and textbooks, Chris hurried to the math room, watching as everyone but Tom piled out.

He paused. Tom was usually the first one out.

Craning his neck, he looked over the heads of the other students. What he saw made his heart clench in rage.

Shaw was approaching Tom in his seat, leaning his hands on the front of his desk, speaking to him quietly.

Tom had his eyes cast down, closing in as he did whenever Shaw was near.

“Fuck that.”

Chris pushed through the last few kids into the classroom.

**

Tom didn’t hear a single word of Shaw’s lesson.

Halfway through, his control broke and he felt a tear slip from his eye. He wiped at it quickly, feeling the room start to close in on him.

Tempted to reach into his pocket for his phone to text Chris, Tom decided against it, not wanting Shaw to call him out on it. He was directly in front of his desk, just feet from where he stood by the board giving his lesson, and any little move Tom made drew Shaw’s eyes.

At least being in the front meant his brimming eyes would be seen by no one.

_No one but Shaw,_ he thought bitterly, refusing to look at him. He stared at the open binder before him, absentmindedly drawing circles on the corner of the page, blinking away his tears, and hating them.

All around him, he could hear the scrapes of pencils furiously taking notes, the squeak of Shaw’s marker on the board, the buzz of young minds working to understand the subject, and he realized he couldn’t care less about any of it.

Shifting in his seat, he turned his head and stared out the window. Let Shaw ramble on; no one could force Tom to listen. Not when it was like flipping a switch in his mind and he was suddenly somewhere else, somewhere warm, with long arms wrapped around him, all smiles and a low rumble in his ear, like thunder. Safe, and warm, and loved.

It wasn’t until chairs started scraping back and voices rose around him that Tom snapped out of his day dream. The lesson was over. He hadn’t even heard the bell ring.

He packed away his things and held his backpack to his chest, something to keep between himself and everything else. He flicked his gaze between Shaw, who was at his desk straightening papers, and the door, where he searched for Chris.

There were still a few stragglers by the door when Shaw approached him, a friendly smile on his face, no trace of the angry sneer he’d worn that windy day in the parking lot.

Leaning his hands on the desk, Shaw braced his weight and looked at Tom, who shifted as far back in his seat as he could go, fingers tightening on his backpack.

“Why are you playing this game, Tom?”

Tom swallowed, but said nothing, eyes on the desktop before him.

“Give in to me.”

With only the energy to shake his head slightly, Tom leaned back even further. Shaw’s eyes roved over his face, soaking in every detail, every flinch.

“You’re delicious, you are. Teasing me...with that boy.”

Tom held his lips closed, but shifted his eyes away, face burning.

“Let me have you.”

“No,” Tom whispered, eyes flashing when they met Shaw’s.

“I will have you. Sooner or later.”

“You’ll _never_ have me.”

There was a commotion at the door and they both turned. Chris was pushing his way past the last few students, his eyes on Shaw murderous.

Shaw straightened, taking the smallest step backward.

Stalking across the room, Chris stepped between Shaw and Tom’s desk.

“Get the fuck away from him.”

His voice was low, sending a chill down Tom’s spine.

Seeing Chris, he felt his limbs come alive and he stood, linking their hands.

“Chris,” Shaw said quietly, taking another step back.

“Trying to use your authority isn’t going to work,” Chris whispered, following Shaw, step by step. Tom tightened his grip on Chris, his free hand wrapping around his bicep.

“Darling,” he said softly, his eyes on the door. The hallway was empty, but anyone could walk by and get the wrong idea about what was really happening.

They would blame Chris. They would accuse him of threatening a teacher, or worse, assaulting one. He would be expelled.

He would finally be out of the way.

Tom’s heart jumped into his throat.

It was a shoddy way to do it, but it was a chance Shaw seemed willing to take.

“You think you’re going to get your way,” Chris continued, his arm vibrating with fury. “But you’re not. Because you’re no match for me, Shaw.”

“Chris, please,” Tom whispered again, pulling at his elbow. “We can’t do this here.”

“I can’t wait for the chance to finally fight you,” Shaw said quietly, that irritating smile coming over his face. “To take you down. And make you watch as I have him.”

“No!” Tom whispered loudly, jumping in front of Chris, who had started to lunge forward. He braced his hands on his chest. “Darling, no. This is exactly what he wants. He’s bluffing! He has no chance against you. We all know that! But on school grounds? You take one swing and he’s going down like the sniveling weasel he is, faking a worse injury, and then you’ll be the aggressor and he will have won. Don’t give this to him. Not here.”

Being on his eye level helped, as Chris had no choice but to look at him. Tom framed his face, whispering, “That means you’ll be out of school. We’ll be separated. Darling, please, please. Please, don’t.”

Memories of the last time he had held Chris back from beating on Shaw that day in the school parking lot flashed through Tom’s mind. The groundskeeper may have seen some of what had happened. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Either way, if he reported the incident, then something like this would only cement Chris’s guilt and make Shaw’s case against him even stronger.

He also remembered how pale Shaw had looked as Chris crowded him against the car, how resigned he was that Chris was about to hit him. That fear. But now Tom wondered if Shaw secretly hoped Chris _would_ hit him, especially if it meant a sweeter reward in the end.

Shaw stood no chance against Christopher. But here in his classroom, with Chris on the brink of snapping, it would all go his way.

Chris was shaking. Every muscle was tense, every vein outlined with the power it took to restrain himself.

But his eyes met Tom’s, finally, after the long frightening moment where Tom actually believed Chris would blow past him and strike Shaw anyway. Chris’s lashes were trembling as he tried to focus. Tom knew he was seeing red.

“I’ve got you, my love. Come with me.” Ignoring Shaw, he wrapped his arms around Chris’s torso, pushing Chris slowly toward the door.

Chris’s eyes were back on Shaw as he let Tom guide him, and there was something lifeless in the way Tom read the fury dripping from Chris’s gaze, the promise of a worse kind of pain if Shaw continued his pursuit.

He didn’t know how Shaw slept at night, having so terrifying an enemy.

They were nearly out the door when Shaw spoke again.

“You’re eighteen, Tom.”

They stopped, Chris’s eyes closing as he tightened his grip on Tom.

“I want you to remember that,” Shaw continued from behind them. “When you’re alone at night, thinking your innocent position as a student will protect you.”

Tom turned and stepped in front of Chris, who was looking ready to tear the classroom to pieces.

“You’re full of shit,” Tom whispered, vibrating with his own rage. “And I’m never alone at night.”

Taking Chris’s hand, he pulled him from the room and down the empty hallway.

**

Pushing their way out the double doors at the end of the corridor, they went down the stairs and around the building, heading to Tom’s drama class. He was late, but Tom couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Stop. Tom, stop.”

Tom kept his head down and walked faster.

Chris yanked on his arm only hard enough to make Tom spin. Chris caught him in his arms, wide hands ready to soothe his back, which was jumping with small sobs.

“I know. Baby, I know. I’m sorry.”

“I hate him,” Tom whispered, his throat closing with his gasps. “I hate him, Chris. I can’t stand the sight of him.”

“Makes two of us,” Chris murmured into his neck. “I wanted to kill him.”

Tom pulled back. “No. It’s like I told you. You can’t. He’ll get his way.”

Chris’s hands tightened on Tom’s biceps. “He’s not going to fucking touch you.”

Tom sighed and pulled Chris to him again. “You promised no more fights this semester,” he said quietly, laughing.

Chris shook his head, taking Tom’s hand and walking again. “Don’t do that. Don’t make light of it.”

Tom hurried to keep up. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Chris spun and Tom froze. “And I don’t like seeing you like this!” Chris ran a hand through his hair, livid. “Seeing you…sitting there, Tom. Clutching your bag and him just…fucking… _leaning_ over you.” He sighed and turned away. “Goddammit.”

Tom rushed to him. "I love you. I love you, Chris. Don't be angry with me."

Chris sighed and took him in his arms again. "Not at you. Never at you. I'm sorry I yelled. But I'm so fucking pissed I could… _rip_ him in two. I could breathe fire right now if I tried."

"My dragon," Tom murmured, squeezing him. "Let's forget it. It's only four months."

"Forget it, my ass," Chris said, voice low. He took Tom's hand and they continued walking. "I'm not going to forget it for as long as I live. Why were you sitting so far from the door today?"

"He assigned us seats."

Chris paused, and then cursed under his breath, walking faster. Tom scrambled after him.

“He didn’t assign your class seats?”

“No.”

They were silent after that.

He was late for class. Very late. They rounded the corner and burst through the outside doors into the main hallway.

Pulling up short of the auditorium, Chris embraced him, burying his face in Tom's neck. They kissed, Chris leaning them up against the wall, hands cradling Tom’s head, hips pressing forward, pinning him.

When he finally disentangled himself, they were both breathing hard.

“I’ll be here. I’ll be right here, waiting for you. You’re coming to practice with me, Tom. Okay?”

Tom nodded. “Yes, love. Of course.”

Slipping down the darkened aisle, Tom flopped himself into the seat next to Jason, who cast him a questioning glance. Tom shook his head and shrugged his back pack off, eyes on their teacher in the front, speaking about the play for the spring semester. Either Mr. Everson didn’t notice his late arrival or was choosing to let it slide.

He’d thought it before and he’d think it again.

Some teachers were just wonderful.

**

“Why were you late today?” Jason asked, as he shelved a box in the storage room.

Tom shrugged and handed him another. “Chris and I were held up by something.”

“Is that boyfriend talk for we started making out in a dark corner?”

Despite himself, Tom laughed. “No. I wish that had been the reason.”

“Something bad?”

Sighing, Tom picked up another box. “You could say that.”

Jason paused, looking over at him. “Are you two okay?”

“What? Yes! Yes, we’re fine. It’s just that…Shaw was being an asshole again.”

Dusting himself off, Jason shook his head. “Fucking unbelievable. What did he do this time?”

They left the storage room, flicking the light off behind them. The class was dispersed throughout the auditorium, bringing out props and wiping everything down. One student was on a ladder, checking the light fixtures just above center stage, while two others called up suggestions. Tom’s duty was to check the balance in the curtains and test the ropes and pulleys.

Tom explained about the assigned seats. He was about to tell him about Chris confronting Shaw when Jason interrupted him.

“Wait. He assigned seats for your class?” When Tom nodded, Jason stopped walking. “He did that for me too, when I had his class. Put me right next to his desk. I remember being happy about it. But that was…you know. Before.” He pursed his lips and turned away.

Tom took his hand and squeezed it, hoping to convey all that he could through that one gesture, that he was sorry about what Shaw had done to him, that Tom was there for him if Jason should ever need him, that he wasn’t alone.

Jason looked down at their hands and blinked fast. He squeezed Tom’s fingers, nodding with a small smile, and then let him go. Clapping him on the shoulder, he guided Tom to the heavy velvet curtain.

“It’s a musical this semester. What did I say?” Jason laughed.

“Yes, you were right.”

“You going to audition?”

Tom hesitated. “I’m not sure. Musicals aren’t my strong suit. I’ll probably do backstage duties again.” He smiled, remembering what Chris had told him when they first met, about the one time he hadn’t seen Tom in a play. _The Sound of Music._

“Well, whatever we do,” Jason continued, ambling down the stairs to the side of the stage. “I hope we’re great at it. It’s our last semester before the big wide world claims us.”

**

Legs folded under him, Tom sat in the corner of the gymnasium, watching the basketball team run their drills. He’d finished his homework a short while before, and now was able to focus on everything Chris did.

And the more he watched, the more it became obvious to Tom that Chris was using this practice to vent a lot of his much pent-up frustration. Tom knew that the day’s events had been hard on Chris, but it wasn’t until he saw him moving around the gym, all raw power and bursts of energy, did Tom realize how much of a rein Chris had been keeping on his temper. Even his teammates were giving him a wide berth, scattering after any play that involved Chris, who marched around, jaw tight, hands on his hips. There was a spark coming off of him, an electricity that would set aflame anyone who dared cross him.

He was a picture of pure intimidation. And it made Tom shiver.

He had no fear of Chris. He knew if he walked up to Chris at that moment, those arms tight with barely suppressed rage would open to him and hold him softly, gently.

Others would not be so fortunate.

He flinched as the thunderous sound of pounding feet approached his end of the court, Chris in the middle of the ten man scrimmage, dribbles hard and precise, narrowed eyes on his teammates. He jumped in the air and passed the ball to the player in the far corner, who caught it and took the shot in one smooth motion, making a clean three pointer. Tom clapped his hands quietly, excited to see the gorgeous fluidity of the game Chris loved so much.

Everyone switched gears, racing to the other end, arms out for balance, legs spread to defend the basket, shoes squeaking on the shiny floor.

Tom was riveted. Chris glistened with fresh sweat, his muscles flexing and straining as he ran and passed and jumped. His hair was still too short to put up in a bun, but long enough that he saw it was getting in Chris’s eyes. He smiled, knowing Chris would wear one of the headbands on Friday night.

Sitting up a little straighter, he tried to see what was happening on the far end of the court now that the game had moved away from him. Chris was positioning himself just under the basket, or ‘posting up’ as Chris had told him it was called. Eric was at his back, one arm braced over Chris’s front, waving to deflect any passes made to him. But Daniel was able to divert the ball to Chris from the three point line, and Tom watched, fascinated, as every single body on the court reacted according to where the ball went.

Chris pivoted on his foot and faked to the right, drawing Eric in to defend his move. Changing directions quickly, his goal the basket above their heads, Chris jumped to make the shot, the ball falling through the hoop with a soft _swish_. After Chris’s clever fake, Eric was still in the motion of defending the basket, and they collided roughly as Chris landed back on his feet, his elbow coming down hard on Eric’s face.

Tom stood, squinting at the loose tangle of players crowded under the basket. Was Chris hurt?

Eric was on the floor, a hand to his face, gushes of blood pouring from between his fingers. Chris stood over him, hesitating. When he reached a hand down, Eric slapped it away. The coaches rushed to his side and Chris turned his back on him, eyes searching out Tom.

_Are you okay?_ Tom mouthed, and Chris nodded, hands flexing so hard that even from his position at the bleachers, Tom could see the veiny muscles jump.

The gym was suddenly filled with the gurgled expletives screamed by Eric, who had jumped to his feet, his practice jersey stained with fresh blood.

“You did that on purpose!” he shouted, pointing a red, sticky finger at Chris.

“Alright, take it easy,” Jaime said, rolling his eyes and dribbling the ball between his legs, casually.

Eric flashed him an angry glare, but held still as one of the coaches tilted his head back to inspect the damage to his nose.

Chris’s jaw clenched again, but he said nothing, just stood off to the side.

“Alright!” the head coach yelled. “Let’s call it a night. Eric, get your nose looked at. Chris good aggression. Save it for Friday night. Everyone else, good work! We’ll start again tomorrow.”

There were exhausted groans and dragging feet as the scrimmage broke up, each player heading different directions to collect their belongings and head into the locker room.

Tom slung his backpack on and leaned against the bleachers. Chris jogged up to him.

“What happened?”

Chris shook his head. “I didn’t mean it. My elbow came down right on his nose. It was a complete accident.”

They watched as Eric left the gym, a blood-soaked towel held to his face.

“That’s going to be bruised badly tomorrow,” Tom whispered.

“Whatever. I don’t fucking care,” Chris said, turning back to him. “Can I shower quickly?

Tom smiled. “Yes, darling. I’ll wait here.”

Chris left a sweat-soaked kiss on Tom’s temple and then ran off. Tom laughed and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

He waited only ten minutes before Chris walked back into the gym, now darkened with the overhead lights dimmed. His hair was wet and slicked back and his skin was cool to the touch.

"Let's go home," he said, taking Tom's hand and leading him to the side door. Tom didn't say anything, but he noticed how Chris clutched his car keys in his free hand, the sharp ends of each key jutted out between his fingers, his fist tight and ready, just in case.

**

“Darling.”

Chris, who after stumbling into his room from the window and crawled into bed with a relieved huff, was now a pile of heavy and sore limbs. He hugged Tom harder, nose tickling his ear. “Yes, babe.” His voice was gravelly, half asleep.

“I love you.”

Eyes shut, Chris shifted closer and left small butterfly kisses on Tom's hairline, breathing in the scent of his curls, warm and calloused hands running up the smooth skin of Tom's back under his sweatshirt.

"I love you, too, babe." Voice dropping off, he snuggled down. "So much. You're just...you're...everything."

And then he was gone, asleep. Tom watched him, his long dark lashes fanned over the sensitive skin of his cheeks. The pink scar on his eyebrow from his fight with Eric. The stubble growing along his jaw. He let his finger trace over the soft bristles, smiling when Chris frowned in his sleep and burrowed closer. Tom wrapped him up tight, drawing the blanket over them.

"You're my everything too," he whispered, letting the rise and fall of Chris's chest lull him to sleep, hoping the night passed as slowly as a lullaby.

**

The rest of the week sped by in a blur of assignments and hasty note-taking and sleepy mornings.

Shaw seemed to have fallen back into the part of the vicious cycle where he ignored them. He never called on them in class, never volunteered them for practice problems, never so much as looked at them. At least not in the eye. Tom would notice how Shaw’s gaze would go distant when Tom walked into class every day, as if Shaw were tracking his progress across the room without directly looking at him. He didn’t have the heart to ask Chris if it was the same for him.

But he and Chris only had enough energy at the end of the day to exchange a few short kisses before collapsing with mental and physical exhaustion. Especially Chris, whose limbs ached from his demanding practices. It was times like these that Tom liked to let Chris lie flat on his back, eyes closing with fatigue, as he massaged lotion on his calves and feet, easing out the painful tension. He liked to watch the bright pink of his thumbnails as his hands moved over the hard muscle beneath the tight skin, marveling at how Chris’s legs buzzed with knotted strength.

Chris’s groans were so soft and light, they sped Tom’s heart. Lying beside him afterward, Chris would kiss his nose and cheeks, murmuring _thank you, thank you, thank you_ into Tom’s ear, both falling asleep almost simultaneously.

The mornings were an entirely different story. Tom was usually roused awake by Chris’s mouth on some part of his body, licking and biting gently. It was always a simple matter of reaching for one of the packets of lube and condoms that Tom kept beneath the mattress, the hurried press of Chris’s fingers, teeth sharp on his skin, until finally the long desired burn of the stretch as Chris sank into him. Sometimes they would lie together, twisted like vines, Chris pumping hard over him. Other times, Chris would roll Tom onto his stomach, yanking him by his hips to land on all fours, and pushing into him from behind.

It was always fast and hard, these few frantic minutes in the morning. Chris had to run home and get ready, and Tom had to be showered and dressed by the time Chris came back to pick him up.

And maybe it was because of this that Chris gripped him a little rougher, rutted into him a little stronger, so that Tom had to stifle his gasps in his pillow, wringing his cock as he came, feeling Chris follow him soon after, a choked groan round and muted in the pre-dawn light.

Tom would feel it for hours afterward. The delicious soreness between his legs, the sensitive skin of his hips and wrists, already bruised a light purple from the previous mornings. He would press his legs together, letting the twinge of the bite marks on his inner thigh set his mind buzzing.

Chris was more careful with marking his neck, even though Tom could see how he eyed it with such longing, trailing his fingers over his throat, squeezing gently before moving on. His shoulders and collarbones were his next favorite places to mark, after his thighs and neck, and he often spent lazy minutes paying these areas special attention, until Tom was a writhing mess, trying not to sob as he clutched at Chris to please hurry.

But their nights were for resting and for whispering and for reminding themselves that one without the other wouldn’t make the least bit of sense, that after knowing what it was to sleep side by side, any other kind of sleep would never again suffice.

**

“Big game tonight, huh,” Jason said, winking at Tom. He was balanced on the ladder, reaching to untangle a wire that had gotten caught in one of the stage drapes.

Tom held the ladder still from the floor. “Yes. He’s excited. I am too.”

“You going?”

“Of course!”

Jason grunted as he reached a little higher, Tom eyeing his progress with worry. “Did you want to come with me?”

Jason glanced down and Tom snapped his fingers, gesturing for him to keep his eye on what he was doing. Jason laughed and resumed his work. “Sure. I’d love to go. Eric mentioned it should be a good game.”

“Are you and him…okay now?”

Shrugging, Jason wound the wire around his elbow and palm, and started his descent. “I guess. Kinda. We've talked a few times since then. Saw each other over break. I went over to his house." He stepped off the last rung and handed the wire to Tom, folding the ladder and carrying it backstage. "It's bad, Tommy. His mom is never around. The place is a mess. He does whatever he wants, it seems. He turns eighteen just before graduation. I don't know what he's going to do after. Work, probably. I know he hasn't applied to any schools."

Tom frowned, wondering how Eric even found the discipline to participate in sports. But after witnessing his brazen behavior in multiple practices, Tom knew that he was toeing some kind of unspoken line. The coaching staff tolerated him for now, it seemed, because he never actually broke any rules. It was that rage simmering just beneath the surface that made him frustratingly unpredictable, setting the whole team on edge with his borderline violence.

Tom dropped the subject, not wanting to broach what he knew was sensitive for Jason.

After class, he and Jason went into the gymnasium, where the junior varsity team were preparing for their game. The varsity team would play last. They bought sodas, nachos, and gummy worms from the concession stand and made their way up the bleachers, which were steadily filling with family and friends of the student athletes.

"Where's Julie?" Tom asked.

"Home. She has family visiting from out of town this weekend. I probably won't see her until Monday."

"I'm so happy you two hit it off."

Jason smiled. "Yeah. She's pretty great. I thought she was kind of...strange when I first met her. She has this habit of walking on her tip toes, makes it seem like she's always flitting around from place to place. She can come off pretty strong at first," he said, laughing and taking a sip of his soda. "She's tiny, but a rocket."

Tom laughed with him. "I know what you mean. She's one of my only friends. Actually, I'm pretty sure she was my only friend before Chris. And well, before you."

Jason smiled, handing him a gummy worm. "I'm honored to be your friend, Tommy." He gave him a one-armed hug and then stole a nacho from the plate on Tom's lap.

Just before the JV team took the court, Tom spied Chris's face in the glass window of the double door leading to the hallway. Chris found him and waved him over.

"Be right back," he told Jason, and handed him his plate of nearly gone nachos. Jason nodded and began eating the rest of them.

"Hi, baby," Chris said as soon as Tom entered the hallway. He pulled Tom into a hard hug, Tom's breath caught in his chest as he squeezed back.

"Are you ready?" Tom asked.

“More than ready. But listen, I wanted to know which I should wear?” he said, opening his palm to reveal the four headbands Tom had given him.

Tom’s eyes widened and he smiled. He fingered the elastic material, finally picking one band from the rest, the one with pink with purple hearts.

“This one,” he said, a bit shyly.

Chris tilted his chin up and kissed him softly. “You got it.”

Tom returned to Jason’s side and sat through the junior varsity game, cheering when their team scored, and groaning when they missed their shots. They lost, in the end, but Tom was too excited for Chris’s game to finally begin to be too upset about the loss.

The visiting team was dribbling around their end of the court when the home team poured out of the hallway, running around the court to start their pre-game warm ups, Tom clapped and cheered with the rest of the crowd. He spotted Chris immediately. He was the second tallest man on the team, his blond hair bouncing at the nape of his neck under the tight strap of the thin pink headband across the top of his head.

Chris found him and winked, waving at Jason, too.

“Gosh, what a babe,” Jason said, as Chris led the drills.

Tom blushed, but couldn’t help but smile. “He is, isn’t he.”

Eric, sporting a taped nose and bruised eyes, was participating in the workouts too, but in the opposite line as Chris.

They had little interaction, Tom was thankful to see, but they often threw each other loaded glances.

“That’s quite the shiner,” Tom whispered.

“Yeah, totally,” Jason agreed. “He told me Chris did it on purpose, but I just can’t believe that. I mean, I know they don’t like each other and all, but I just can’t see Chris hurting another person deliberately, you know, without cause. Much less one of his own teammates. Eric was just too emotional to see it clearly.”

Tom nodded, pleased that Jason would think so kindly of Chris. While he couldn’t see Chris’s relationship with Eric improving any time soon, he could see the ice melting between him and Jason, each taking tiny steps to be more cordial with each other, more giving when before there had been a wary and icy distance.

“I’m just sorry anyone was hurt,” he said finally, eyes tracking Chris’s movements on the court.

“Nah. Don’t worry about it,” Jason said, leaning back. “They set Eric’s nose almost immediately. He’ll be fine. He’s milking it.” He laughed quietly, his eyes flicking over to where Eric waited at the baseline, filled with something very much like affection.

The game started with a wild cheer from the crowd, Chris one of the five starters. He and the rest of the players stood in a loose circle around the two tallest guys, who would jump after the basketball to determine first possession.

Once under way, the game progressed at a fast pace. Both teams scored non-stop, feet a blur on the polished wooden floor. A shorter guard set up all the plays, even if Chris was the one who scored most frequently.

Tom had never clapped so hard or for so long before. Chris was pure movement, sprinting from one end of the court to the other, assisting his teammates in shots scored, taking the ball to the hoop himself, cutting through defenders and setting up fast breaks.

He was taken out just twice during the first two quarters, both times for a quick breather and water. He was back in the game within the minute, faking passes and defending the basket, eyes and limbs working in tandem to widen the gap between the two scores.

At half time, the teams left the gym for the locker rooms.

“Tommy, I had no idea. He’s like, really good.”

Tom laughed, his heart racing fast. “I know! I’m so proud of him. This is really the first time I get to see him play, officially.”

And it was true. While he had tried to catch glimpses of Chris during practice in the year before they had met, Tom never had the courage to actually attend a game, afraid Chris would take one look at him and see through his thin resolve to where all his secrets lay buried in a pile in the middle of his chest.

At the beginning of the second half, Tom watched as Chris adjusted his uniform and the band on his head, tossing his hair back before letting the band snap tight. He and his teammates butted fists and then got into position. The whistle blew and play resumed, both teams shouting commands amid the loud squeaks of their tennis shoes.

Their team was well ahead, but as the game clock ticked down, the opposing team found a new burst of life and started making most of their shots. It was with only seconds left that they attempted one last desperate drive to the hoop, cutting down the middle and past Chris’s teammates.

Seeing the play out of the corner of his eye, Chris pivoted his hips and stepped in front of the other player, planting his feet and throwing his hands straight up in the air.

The player bowled over Chris, both falling to the floor. A loud whistle sounded and all play grounded to a halt.

Tom jumped up, eyes darting, searching for Chris. The referee made a wild gesture with his arms, crossing them and pointing at the home basket. The crowd screamed and Chris was hauled to his feet by his teammates, a wide smile on his face.

“Guess that was a good thing,” Tom mused, turning to Jason.

“Yeah. It’s an offensive charge. The foul is on the other player. Chris basically sacrificed himself for the team.”

The game ended shortly after that, both teams shaking hands in a single file line.

Tom ran up to Chris once he was back in the hallway, Chris snatching him up, laughing.

“Great job, darling,” Tom said, loving the feel of Chris’s sweat on his cheek.

“Thanks, babe. I felt like pure light out there.”

“It showed. You were amazing.”

“Let me get my stuff and we can get out of here.”

“Can we drop Jason off at his house?”

“Of course. Be back in a minute.”

The three of them piled into Chris’s car, each talking about which part of the game was their favorite. Chris held Tom’s hand during the drive, sneaking glances at him and winking.

Jason thanked them for the ride, waving from his front door, and Chris took Tom home.

“I’ll be by in a minute,” he whispered, kissing Tom’s nose.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

After catching up with his parents about the game and how Chris did, Tom brushed his teeth and showered quickly, locking his door just as Chris poked his head into the room, his wide, albeit tired smile making the space seem brighter.

Both smelling of clean skin and body wash, they curled up under the blankets, damp hair and twining feet, falling into a heavy asleep, content with the knowledge that they could sleep in once morning came, if only for a little while.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much fluff in this chapter <3 Tom's birthday and Valentine's Day.
> 
> Thank you to my beta for editing, as well as helping me choose one of the two songs mentioned in this chapter. 'Sea of Love' by Cat Power, what a gem! ;-)

It was the first week of February, which meant the team’s first away game was coming up. It was also the same day as Tom's birthday. Upset that he wouldn't be with him the entire day, Chris was intent on lavishing extra love on Tom, whenever he could.

In the days leading up to it, Tom would wake after Chris had left, and spot a chocolate Hershey’s Kiss on his pillow. He found more chocolate in his backpack, in his locker, and even behind his ear, when Chris wiggled his fingers like magic and produced another foil-wrapped chocolate.

"You discovered my sweet tooth. It is my weakness,” Tom sighed, as Chris popped the chocolate into his mouth and then brought their mouths together, sharing the treat with him.

They had talked about what they would do when Chris needed to leave for games, and they decided that Tom would drive Chris’s car home and then pick him up once the team returned to the school at night.

But it was the few minutes Tom would walk to the car by himself, both in the school parking lot and at his house that worried Chris. Shaw had given them enough suspicion to wonder if he was still lurking about, even though he had fallen back into the pattern of blatantly ignoring them when he thought they were watching.

After leaving Tom in his math class, and staring a hole into the back of Shaw’s head as Tom took his seat, Chris made his way down the hall, trying to spot Jason in the crowd.

He finally found him about to exit the school’s back doorway.

“Hey, Jason,” he called out, maneuvering around stragglers. Jason stopped and turned, brows bunching in amusement. Why did it always look like Jason was laughing at a joke Chris wasn’t in on?

“Chris,” he said in greeting, thumbs hooking on his backpack straps.

Stopping just in front of him, Chris hesitated and smiled awkwardly, fiddling with the pencil in his hand. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, listen. I have an away game coming up and—.”

“Nice. The team’s been doing so well. Undefeated, right?”

Chris shrugged and laughed quietly. “Yeah. Four games in. We’ve been lucky.”

“Not from what I’ve seen.”

Chris had the good grace to blush. He cleared his throat again. “Our first away game is coming up this week and I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

 Jason let the door close and they were thrown into silence. He frowned. “What’s up?”

“Tom and I decided that he would take my car home on days when I’m away at games, and then come get me when we get back at night. But I…” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the floor.

Jason angled his head, trying to catch his eye. “You’re still worried about Shaw.”

Sighing, Chris nodded. “It’s—I mean. It’s the few minutes he’ll be alone, walking to the car, both here and at his house. Things have been kind of spooky in our neighborhood. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone. And I know he’ll probably start hating it soon, me hovering all the time—.”

“Spending time with you is probably the last thing Tom would ever hate.”

Chris blinked. “I…God, I hope so.”

Jason smiled.

“But I was wondering if you would be willing to spend time with him on those days. Drama is last period for both of you. Maybe he could drive you home those days or you could even hang out until I’m back. Thing is…I just don’t want him alone.” He looked Jason in the eye, hoping his desperation wasn’t too apparent. “Ever.”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jason nodded after a moment. “Sure. It’s not a problem. We can do homework and watch movies.”

Chris sagged with relief, running a hand over his face. “Thank you, Jason. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“I want him safe, too, Chris.”

They stood quietly. Chris nodded. “Thank you.”

Jason continued down the stairs and then turned, walking backwards. “If I mention it to him later, will he know what I’m talking about?” His smile was wide, obviously on to the fact that Chris still hadn’t told Tom about this part of the deal.

“Yes. I’ll tell him after his math class.”

Winking, Jason tossed him a wave and disappeared around the corner.

**

Chris made sure to be outside Tom’s classroom right as the bell rang, practically sprinting down the hall from his own class to avoid the wave of students.

Looking in through the small window, he spotted Tom jotting down some final notes, tongue peeking out between his lips. Shaw was at the board, writing down their homework assignment. As everyone started gathering their things, Chris opened the door and stepped just inside.

It emptied out slowly, Tom joining the crowd, their hands linking. Shaw stayed at his desk, but when Chris glanced back at him, he met Shaw’s eyes and narrowed his own, face hardening. Shaw eventually looked down, returning to the stack of papers in his hands.

“Baby, can I ask you something?” Chris asked, throwing his arm around Tom’s shoulders.

Tom wrapped an arm around his waist. “Yes, of course.”

“You know how we talked about away games? Well, I asked Jason if he could ride home with you on those days.”

Tom smiled slowly. “Really? You asked him?” Chris nodded. Keeping stride with him, Tom shrugged easily. “Ok, that’s fine with me.”

“And…to ride back to school with you to pick me up.”

Tom stopped and blinked up at him. “Do you really think that’s necessary, love?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to take any chances. I’m just worried.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it wasn’t a problem and that you guys could watch movies and do homework.”

“That was very nice of him,” Tom said quietly, walking again. Chris pulled him into the corner of the nearly empty hallway.

“Is that…ok? That I asked him?”

Tom smiled. “Yes, darling. It’s fine. I want you to be as worry-free as possible when you’re away at games. And Jason is fun company.”

Chris snuggled up against his neck, clutching Tom close when he squirmed away with a giggle. “Not too much fun I hope. Not without me.”

Tom gasped. “Don’t tease me so early in the day, Christopher. Not when I can’t tear off your clothes and have my way with you.”

Chris growled and hugged Tom around the waist, kissing his neck softly.

“Lovely bruises.”

They both turned, surprised.

Shaw was walking down the hall just opposite them, eyes drifting to Tom’s wrists. They were resting on Chris’s shoulders, sleeves ridden up, visibly bruised.

“Mine would look the same, I think.” Shaw gave them a wide grin that didn’t reach his eyes, making him look almost feral.

Tom hurried to pull down his sleeves, face burning red. Chris held him against the lockers, tracking Shaw’s progress over his shoulder as he pushed into the men’s restroom.

“Chris.”

Chris straightened and turned to face the closing door.

"Chris, please.”

Tom saw his chest rising with harsh breaths, hands fisting slowly. Shifting his eyes to the restroom door, anger bloomed in Tom’s own heart. Shaw wasn’t going to stop trying to rile Chris’s resolve into finally breaking, his goal of getting him expelled and out of school one he wouldn’t give up on.

“Christopher, no. Come on, I’m going to be late.” He took his elbow and pulled, but it was like moving a bag of cement. Stepping in front of him, Tom took Chris’s face and kissed him, feeling the exact moment Chris snapped back into the present, the soft moan in his throat, arms folding Tom in.

“You,” Tom whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “Are mine. And I want your marks on me. Later, promise me. Walk me to class, love?”

Chris let his eyes flutter shut, letting Tom’s touch calm him. “I promise.”

He took his hand and they pushed out the double doors, both resolutely ignoring the restroom door opening and closing behind them.

**

On the day of Chris’s first away game, Chris woke Tom with quiet, slow kisses. Rousing, Tom blinked his eyes open, still hazy with sleep.

"Happy birthday."

Tom lifted his head, watching Chris leave a trail of warm breath down his chest and stomach, fingers making quick work of his boxers. Tom was half hard, but the bright, mischievous look on Chris's face had him in near pain within seconds.

"Chris—."

"Shh now, babe," Chris murmured, kissing each hipbone, hand cupping Tom and stroking him gently. And without another word, Chris took him into his mouth, sucking at the moist tip, tongue flicking into the sensitive slit.

Tom gasped and let his head fall back, hands drifting to Chris's face. He never seemed to get used to the feel of Chris’s mouth, wet and hot enough to make stars explode behind Tom’s eyelids. The lower Chris went, his tongue licking at his shaft with greater expertise, the shallower Tom's breaths became, panting into the dark room. He couldn't stop his hips from lifting, feeling himself nudge deeper into Chris's throat. Chris moaned and held still, letting Tom set the pace.

They'd done this many times, always ending with Chris swallowing his come until not a drop was left. It was no different now, when as Tom's spine bent off the bed, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, Chris kept him steady with both hands on his hips, throat working and tongue swirling over him.

"Oh, Chris," he wheezed, fingers shaking in his hair. "You're so amazing at that."

Smiling, Chris inched his way back up and lay beside Tom, who could feel his erection against his thigh.

"I love you," Chris whispered, running a hand through Tom's curls, loving the way they bounced back into place. "You were born today. It's the best fucking day of my life."

Tom laughed quietly, kissing him gently, tasting himself on his tongue. He anchored his leg over Chris’s hip, urging him on. “It’s your turn, darling.”

Hesitating a moment, Chris grinned wickedly and then rolled over Tom, flipping him at the same time.

Tom gasped, bracing himself on Chris’s chest.

“Baby?” he asked, straddling Chris’s waist. He settled himself more comfortably on his hips, pink toes smoothing over the skin of his calves.

“Here,” Chris said, stretching to the side and grabbing the lube and condom packet. “Lean over me, babe. Down here,” he said, gesturing to his chest. He slicked his fingers with lube as Tom bent forward, pressing their chests together. “Hold still, hold still,” he murmured, wrapping an around behind Tom’s back and pressing slicked fingers to his entrance.

Tom gasped and squirmed, but Chris tightened his hold on him, lips at his ear.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me stretch you. It’s okay.”

Tom nodded and sought his lips. They kissed as his fingers explored and worked to open Tom. Once he could slide three fingers in and Tom began to tremble, he pulled back and picked up the condom, his fingers shaking, slipping over the shiny foil.

“Let me, love,” Tom said, taking the packet from him. He tore it open and rolled the rubber over Chris’s length, squeezing him playfully at the base.

“You’re terrible,” Chris sighed, smiling. “Lift up for me. I want you to ride me.”

Even in the dim light, he could see the blush rise over Tom’s face.

“R-ride you?”

“Yes, baby. Lean forward, like before.”

Tom did as he was asked, twisting his head back to look. Chris took himself in hand, kissing Tom’s neck, and pushed in slowly. He angled Tom’s hips lower, guiding him down. “Feel it, babe. Feel it. How far down can you sit?”

Tom, rosy faced, pushed up on his elbows. Without a word, he braced his hands on Chris’s chest again and started to slowly sink himself onto him, whimpering the lower he went.

“C-Chris…” he breathed, smiling. “Oh, darling, it’s so much…it’s different, love. But so full. So full like always.”

He didn’t stop until he was fully seated on Chris’s hips, tightening his lower muscles so that Chris winced.

“Fuck, babe. Do that again.”

Tom giggled quietly and squeezed once more. Groaning, Chris gripped his hips.

“Move. Go on, move.”

“Just…up and—and down?” Tom glanced down at their bodies.

“Up and down, side to side, circles. Whatever you want, baby. Whatever is most comfortable for you. I’m _literally_ good with anything.”

Tentatively, Tom rolled his hips forward and Chris hissed, arching his neck. Emboldened, Tom rolled back and then forward again, starting a slow rhythm. Chris felt so big inside him, so thick. And from this angle, Tom was able to control how fast he went, how often he hit that amazing gland inside him. Eyes fluttering closed, he started to bounce, feeling himself get hard again. As Chris slid his hands to grip Tom’s hips, Tom marveled at the position, feeling jittery about being the one to lead the rhythm. He loved Chris on top of him, loved to be caught off guard by the sudden bursts of strength Chris often exhibited, the frantic need to claim Tom, over and over. He _loved_ Chris in control. But this…this was an entirely different kind of love.

Tom moved faster, bouncing on Chris, fingers flexing on his chest.

“That’s it, babe. Fuck yourself on me. Goddamn, you’re gorgeous.”

Tom felt himself glowing at Chris’s words, a warmth on his skin, moving faster, arching when Chris slid into him just right.

Something started vibrating under their pillows, a soft pinging sound curling into the closed air. Tom slowed as Chris scrambled to find his phone and quickly turned off his alarm, tossing the device away and focusing on Tom again.

Using his slicked hand, Chris started fisting Tom’s cock, bringing him to the brink again. Just a few more strokes and Tom was bending, clenching down on Chris, his cock pulsing in Chris’s hand.

Tom bit his lip to avoid crying out and he tasted copper as his vision blanked out, his blood singing through his veins. Chris let him go and took hold of his hips, moving him forward and back until finally, he came too, a groan caught deep in his chest.

Collapsing, Tom lay shivering over Chris.

"I liked that,” Tom admitted with a smile, breathing heavily. He snuggled and arched under Chris’s touch, like a cat stretching.

“I fucking loved it,” Chris said with a low laugh. He kissed Tom’s forehead. “I love you, Tom. Happy birthday.”

“I love you, too, Christopher. Please don’t go.”

Chris hugged him tight. “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could take you away and live somewhere no one knows us. Just me and you. And the sky.”

They embraced, both hoping their simultaneous desire of it would make it suddenly so.

Frowning, Chris took Tom’s chin and tilted it up, his eyes on Tom’s swollen bottom lip. “You’re bleeding.”

Sucking his lip between his teeth, Tom licked at the small drop of blood, tasting iron again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Chris just smiled and kissed him, opening his mouth to taste him all the more freely.

“There’s something for you under the bed. Open it after I leave.”

And so once Chris was safely down the ladder, Tom knelt quickly and pulled out a plain white cardboard box. Chris had written ‘ _Puppy_ ’ on the lid.

Uncovering it, Tom gasped when he saw what lay inside. It was an athletic letterman jacket— _Chris’s letterman jacket_. The white stitching was done elegantly over the blue body of the jacket, their high school name on one side and Chris’s name and jersey number on the other. An orange basketball was steamed neatly beneath it. The sleeves were a cream color, smooth and soft.

Tom brought it to his face, smelling Chris on the soft interior.

Elated, Tom jumped up and lay the jacket on his bed and then rushed to shower and brush his teeth. His bitten lip didn’t look too bad. It was bruised a dark red. There was a small cut the size of his front tooth on the meaty part of it. He licked it again and smiled.

Dressing in dark blue jeans and a black shirt with an old drama camp logo on it, Tom shrugged on the jacket and stood before the mirror. It was only a little big on him, but he was pleasantly surprised by how good he looked in it.

He trailed his fingers over the stitching of Chris’s name, and then hurried to collect his backpack and wallet.

Chris was waiting for him on the curb, and once he spotted Tom walking down the drive, he removed his shades and let his mouth drop open.

Tom laughed and slid into the passenger seat. “You are comical.”

“And you are hot. You’re not allowed to wear anything else ever again.”

Tom leaned over and caressed his cheek. “You’re just saying that because it shows how very much I belong to you.”

Chris growled low and kissed his mouth. “That, too.” He traced the cut on Tom’s lip with his thumb, eyes going soft, remembering.

“I like that it shows that. I want everyone to know.”

“Fuck, I’m ready to take this conversation to the backseat.”

Tom giggled and shied away when Chris used his stubble to tickle his neck. “No! We’re going to be late. You’re getting me into that bad habit, Christopher!”

"Alright, alright," Chris sighed, letting Tom go. "Stupid school." Winking, he put the car in gear and drove out of their neighborhood.

**

Hidden away in the corner of the empty hallway outside the auditorium, Tom held in a gasp.

“God, you smell so good,” Chris whispered, nipping at Tom’s neck. “I want to keep you forever.”

Tom giggled quietly, resisting the urge to wrap a leg around Chris’s waist. “I _am_ yours forever, silly puppy.” He sighed as Chris sucked the sensitive spot behind his ear. “Chris, wait. Please, someone will—darling, we can’t—.”

"Tom," Chris breathed, pressing him harder against the wall, clutching the lapels of his letterman jacket, looking so fucking perfect on Tom's slim body.

Tom whined low and Chris eased back. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

Tom looked flushed, eyes almost glazed where he rested against the wall. He grabbed Chris again, crashing their mouths together.

"Don't apologize." He smiled and then slipped around Chris, waving before he disappeared into his Drama class. Chris groaned and collapsed against the wall, tasting Tom on his lips still.

 _We better win the fucking game tonight_ , he thought, eyeing the closed auditorium door.

**

"Why are you all smiles?" Jason asked.

"No reason," Tom laughed. "Ready?"

They left the theatre after class and walked over to Chris's car. Chris was gone by that time and would text Tom when the team was on its way back.

“Nice jacket, by the way,” Jason said, giving him a side glance, his smile bemused.

Tom blushed and touched the front of it gently. “Oh. Thank you. He gave it to me.”

“Figured,” Jason said, chuckling. “Just because?”

“For my birthday.”

Jason stopped and turned fast, his face falling open in surprise. “Today?!”

Laughing, Tom nodded. Jason reached and pulled him into a hard hug. “Happy birthday, Tommy! Christ, say something next time.”

“I’m sorry!”

Jason pulled back and looked at him excitedly. “Do we have to go home right away? Can I take you for a burger? Birthday treat.”

Shrugging, Tom smiled. “We really don’t have to.”

“Yes, yes, yes, come on!” Jason said, pulling his arm and leading him to the car. “We have the whole evening. We can go eat and then go home and do homework and watch the movie. It’s perfect.”

They piled in and Tom started the car.

“Are you going to tell me yet?” he asked, pulling out of the parking lot carefully.

Jason smiled. “Have you ever seen _Clueless_?”

“Sure! I love that movie.”

“Well, that’s what I brought. I love it too.”

“Fine by me,” Tom said, laughing.

They went to a burger place downtown and ate what was easily the biggest burger Tom had ever seen. Daring each other to finish their own, they ate at a steady pace until both showed signs of defeat.

“I have…two more…bites,” Jason said, eyes looking drowsy.

Tom had his forehead on the tabletop, nearly finished with his, too. “I can’t…anymore.”

“Yes, we can. Come on. Do it for Chris.”

“Chris wouldn’t want me to die of burger overload.”

They laughed and then clutched their stomachs, groaning. In the end, they each left a few pieces on their plates and called a stalemate before stumbling out to the car, Jason begging Tom not to crash on the way home.

Tom parked along the curb outside his house and unlocked the front door.

They went into the living room, both dragging their steps and shushing each other.

“No one is even home,” Tom said, giggling and leading the way. “Why are we shushing each other?”

“Dude, don’t ask me anything. I don’t even know what day it is,” Jason huffed, plopping down on the nearest sofa, looking near catatonic.

They watched the movie and did their homework at the same time, reciting lines and laughing at Cher in all her earnest obliviousness.

“I don’t know how she couldn’t tell Christian was gay,” Jason mused, reclining back against the cushions.

“Some people are…well…,” Tom started, catching Jason’s eye.

“Clueless,” they said simultaneously, cracking up again.

When Tom’s parents got home, he introduced them to Jason, smoothing over why Chris’s car was outside.

“He doesn’t want to leave it at the school for so long after dark,” Tom said.

“Well that’s certainly understandable, given what happened with the break-in,” his father agreed.

Tom met Jason’s eyes, but said nothing.

When Tom’s phone pinged with a text from Chris later that evening, he and Jason were sprawled on the floor before the television, full of the cake and ice cream his mother had prepared for his birthday. Chins in hand and eyes wide, they watched, rapt, as a cheetah lunged over an antelope, taking it down for the kill.

“Evolution has betrayed me,” Jason whispered, blinking at all the blood on the screen.

“Knowing my luck, I would have been the antelope,” Tom sighed.

His mom popped her head out of the kitchen. “Bring Chris by, love. For some cake.”

“Okay, mom. Be back in a few.”

Chris was waiting for them by the front of the school, sports bag at his feet. He climbed into the back seat and reached to kiss Tom’s cheek, clapping Jason on the shoulder in greeting.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes, darling. Everything is perfect. How did you do?” He pulled into the street and started for home.

Chris smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “We won.”

“Congratulations!”

“Still undefeated,” Jason joined, nodding at him.

They chatted about the game and told Chris about their afternoon.

“Mom wants you to come by for cake and ice cream. And food, if you want. Are you hungry?”

Chris groaned. “Starved.”

They dropped Jason off at his house, thanking him for staying over.

“Anytime, Tommy. Next week, it’s _Spartacus_.” He winked. “‘Nite, guys.”

Chris stayed for a late dinner and dessert, talking basketball with Tom’s father. When he left, Tom rushed upstairs to shower and brush his teeth.

He put the letterman jacket away in his closet, smoothing it over lovingly.

Climbing into his room a while later, Chris smelled of soap and fresh body lotion. His eyes were drooping with fatigue, and so Tom held him gently, rubbing his back in slow circles.

“I missed you,” Chris mumbled, practically asleep, cuddling against Tom a little tighter. “I don’t like being apart from you so long.”

“I missed you too, Christopher,” Tom said, kissing his temple. “I’ll be here in the morning. Sleep now, my love. I’m right here.”

And as Chris eased into sleep, his body becoming heavier on him, Tom stroked the ends of his hair and hummed a quiet tune, drifting off after Chris in no time.

**

Chris and Tom woke up later than they were supposed to on Valentine’s Day. Chris had only enough time to jam his feet into his shoes and clamber down the ladder, Tom leaving tiny kisses on his face as far down as he could bend. Chris loved those kinds of kisses. Desperate and hurried and full of what he knew Tom reserved only for him.

He changed quickly and then made sure the soft pink-wrapped package was safe in the passenger seat when he left to pick up Tom.

“When can we exchange gifts?” Tom asked excitedly on the drive to school. Chris squeezed his hand.

“After I park, babe.”

“Okay,” Tom acquiesced, smiling wide. Tom’s package for Chris was wrapped in dark purple and he held it tight in his lap, smoothing the paper every few seconds.

Once he found a spot near the back of the lot, Chris turned off the ignition and faced Tom, who held out his gift immediately. One purple package went one way, one pink package went the other.

They held their gifts and Tom nodded. “You first.”

“No, I went first at Christmas. You first.”

Tom pouted but tore into his gift nevertheless.

His eyes went wide as he read the cover of the book.

“ _100 Love Sonnets_ by Pablo Neruda,” he whispered, touching the pages gently.

Chris swallowed and shifted. “You don’t like it?”

Tom blinked and snapped his gaze to Chris. “Open yours, love. Go on. This is uncanny.”

Nervous, Chris ripped the paper and gasped despite himself. The cover read _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair_ by Pablo Neruda.

“Wait. We got each other a book of poems by the same author?”

Tom laughed, shielding his face with the book, his shoulders shaking. “It would appear so. I’m not exactly sure how, but we did.” He kissed the cover of the book and then closed the distance between them to kiss Chris. “Thank you, my love. It’s perfect.”

Chris blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I—I wanted to make it a little more special for you. So I’ve been reading it in the locker room before games. It helps me to center myself, and to focus.” He laughed. “This Pablo guy really knew what he was talking about. Anyway. I left you some notes in some of the margins. Just lines that reminded me specifically of you.”

Tom was gaping at him, the book clutched to his chest. “My Christopher…what did I do to deserve you?”

“Oh no,” Chris said, shaking his head. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I thank my lucky stars every morning I wake up to see your face and realize it wasn’t all just a cruel dream.” He shrugged and tapped the book in Tom’s hand with his own. “One day we are going to live in a house that has a room filled with bookshelves, floor to ceiling. These two books are the start of our lifelong collection, don’t you think?” His tender smile nearly tore Tom’s heart in two.

He slid his fingers through Chris’s hair, unable to look away from him. “You amaze me. I love you. I feel like I can’t say that often enough.”

Chris pulled him into a tight hug, murmuring into his neck. “I love you more, Tom. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

They embraced until the first bell rang, and even then they let themselves go in slow increments, hands trailing over shoulders, fingers tracing over cheekbones, sliding through hair soft and clean. They put their books of poetry into their backpacks and got out of the car, hands twining as they walked through the front of the school.

**

Every chance Tom got, he took out the book Chris had given him and read through it slowly, eyes tearing when he caught sight of Chris’s spiky scrawl, bold underlines, less certain circles drawn around entire stanzas.

           

            _I don’t know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes,_

_But it is your heart that distributes_

_All the graces of the daybreak, in my breast._

Or:

 

_And so, at last, you sleep, in the circle of my arms_

_That push back the shadows so that you can rest—_

_Vegetables, seaweed, herbs: the foam of your dreams._

There were dozens upon dozens of similarly marked lines, each more touching than the previous. Tom blinked away his tears, realizing the classroom was filling around him. But he couldn’t stop this giant emotion in his chest, this rendering in his bones, the feeling of such sweet heaviness behind his ribs.

He loved Chris more than anything ever before. It was a love different from what he felt for his parents and family, or even theater and the dramatic arts. Chris was altogether a different passion, bigger and seemingly more solid in his heart. Tom knew he would never feel anything quite like this again.

**

Chris paced in his bedroom. His phone was charged and he double-checked the music selection, making sure the playlist was there. The first two songs were the most important to him, anyway. Tom was waiting for him back at his house, as he did every night. He checked the time. It was just past ten at night. That should be enough.

Jogging down the dark street, Chris made sure to keep his heart rate slow. He didn’t want to show up out of breath and sweaty.

Climbing up the ladder was like second nature now. Each step was sure-footed and even. Pushing open the window and locking it behind him, all half thought of habit. But seeing Tom every single time, either already under the blankets or standing aside or sitting patiently on the bed, still made Chris’s heart pound an erratic beat, knowing he was the only one to whom Tom granted this privilege.

And there he was, sitting on the bed as he had imagined, wearing sweat pants and a thin cotton shirt.

“Hi, babe,” he whispered, watching Tom rise. He took him in his arms and squeezed him tight, letting Tom’s warm body chase the chill from his own. “Sorry I’m late.”

Tom pulled back. “But you’re right on time.”

Chris’s nerves were fraying. “Baby. Before we go to bed, may I ask one thing?”

Tom frowned and stepped closer. “Yes, darling. Anything.”

Chris took a deep breath. “Will you…dance with me?”

Tom smiled. “Dance?”

“Yes! It’s our first Valentine’s Day. And I realized we’ve never danced together. I certainly am not the best dancer. And I’m not sure how you feel about dancing, but I thought we could have our first dance…tonight.”

“I love dancing,” Tom said, smile bright in the near darkness. “I mean, I’ve never really done it in front of people. But you’re not people. You’re Chris.”

Giddy now, Chris fumbled in his pockets. He laughed quietly. “I…um,” he said, pulling out his phone and ear buds. “I brought these with me. Here.” He inserted the ear buds into his phone and then gave one bud to Tom, taking the other for himself.

Smiling from ear to ear, Tom waited while Chris brought up the playlist. “Just a couple,” he whispered, hitting play. “If you want,” he added quickly.

“Couple hundred,” Tom replied, giggling.

The first strums of a guitar sounded in their ears. They stood shyly a foot apart. As Cat Power began her rendition of _Sea of Love_ , Tom closed the distance and draped his arms around Chris’s neck, rubbing their cheeks together sweetly. Chris held him close, wrapping his waist, feeling the smooth skin and lean bones move beneath his shaking hands. He started humming along with the song, letting the tickle of Tom’s breath by his ear calm his heart.

They moved in a slow circle, Tom’s bare feet padding silently beside his own sneakered feet. He heard Tom sigh, and then his chest jumped and Chris knew he was crying. He tightened his arms around him, the music connecting them through two small wires.

“I love you so much,” Tom sobbed, tears leaking between their cheeks.

“Baby,” he breathed, turning them slowly. The song changed to Mumford and Sons’ _Not With Haste_. Chris knew this one by heart. He’d rediscovered the song just after meeting Tom, and couldn’t help but identify it with how he felt for him.

“Let me keep you,” Tom whispered, clasping onto him hard.

They stopped moving and pulled back to look at each other.

“I couldn’t be anyone else’s,” Chris said, voice hoarse.

Tom sobbed again and he kissed Chris, hard, desperate, sweet. Chris swallowed his whimpers, tiny and fragile in the quiet dark.

He shut his music off and cradled Tom’s head, fingers gripping his curls, lips insistent at his neck, kissing to bruise.

“Chris,” Tom whispered, misty eyes fluttering closed, hands gripping the soft T-shirt Chris was wearing. They fumbled until finally collapsing on the bed, Chris’s weight like a heavy embrace on Tom. 

“I love you,” Chris murmured, kissing each eyelid, each brow and cheek, over his chin and jaw up to his temples. “I love you. I love you.”

They fell into sleep with exhausted breaths, their limbs tangled and warm, safe from the cold, bitter dark just outside the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any of you interested, I've published the first chapter of my new hiddlesworth fic, 'Half Moons and a Peach Tree'.
> 
> So excited! Thank you so much for all your support! :)


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone. Okay, so this is a chapter that I've been leading up to for a while now. It's a much darker chapter. It was very, very hard for me to write. *deep breath*
> 
> Thank you to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan, for holding my hand through this. I could not have done this without you!!
> 
> **WARNINGS FOR**: non-con, attempted rape, aggravated assault, fingering without lube, and threatening, suggestive language.

A full month passed and spring break was fast approaching. There was a restless buzz among the student body, already frayed with nerves from midterm exams and research papers. Everyone had a long, exhausted, hollow look upon their faces, eyes vacant and bleary, trying in vain to retain facts about six different subjects, dreading the next exam or assignment.

Jason and Tom began a routine on the days Chris had away games. They would drive to Tom's house and finish homework while watching a movie. Other times, he would join Tom for the home games at their school. Julie stopped by sometimes, too, all cheering for Chris and the rest of the team, who continued their undefeated winning streak.

The team had two more games in the week before spring break, winning both, becoming the talk of most of the school. There were whispers of possibly qualifying for national tournaments, but Chris took it all in easy stride, shrugging with a smile and going about it day by day.

In Drama, Tom accepted his role with backstage duties, working the pulleys and helping the actors with costume changes, arranging props and aiding in makeup design. Jason helped a bit, but he had been cast as one of the backup dancers, to his great amusement.

“Those who can’t sing, dance,” he said mock seriously, holding his chin high.

Tom tossed a pair of wrinkled trousers at him and then danced away when Jason lunged after him, laughing hysterically.

At lunch one day, Chris leaned into him and said, "Jaime's thinking of getting a group going for spring break. We can go to the beach and have a cook out and not read anything school-related in any way."

Tom chuckled and nodded. "That's sounds like fun," he said, munching on a French fry.

"Yeah, yeah!" Jaime piped in, leaning across the table at them. "So, next Saturday, first day of break, bring your sunblock." He winked and then scowled at Danny, who stole his orange juice in one quick swipe.

Chris laughed and rolled his eyes, squeezing Tom's hand under the table.

Tom’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he frowned, pulling it out. The screen glowed bright before blanking out entirely.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asked, drinking from his water bottle.

“My phone,” Tom murmured, pressing the power button with no success. “It’s been dying faster and faster lately. I think something’s wrong with it. Maybe they sent me a faulty replacement.”

"It could be the battery. We can always just get you a new one, babe."

Tom nodded and put his phone away, thinking he would charge it during Drama.

As the week drew to its end, there was a feeling of extended relief that descended over the entire school. A full seven days off, with nothing to do but sleep and hang out with friends and sleep some more.

Chris and Tom prepared a duffle bag with things to take to the beach. In it, they put two large towels and sunscreen, as well as water bottles and snacks. Chris also wrote a note for Tom to include his phone charger, and when Tom saw it, yelled down the stairs to Chris, who was rummaging for food in the kitchen, “And just where will I charge my phone, Christopher? In the sand?!”

Chris had laughed and yelled back, “Hush, puppy!”

At the top of the pile they placed the last two items, their two new poetry books, smiling as they zipped the bag shut.

Tom had already asked his parents for permission to go, and with only a day between them and a warm day at the beach, he and Chris laughed easier, already tasting the freedom of the upcoming break.

Thursday night found Tom in the living room watching a documentary on the life of Christopher Marlowe. He’d done as much studying as he could for his last exam the next day and his eyes were drooping. It was still early and his parents were in the kitchen, washing up after dinner. His phone beeped with a message from Chris.

_Dad is hanging around._

Tom smiled and typed out a response.

_My impatient one. Parents are lingering here too._

They only really felt comfortable for Chris to sneak into Tom’s room if their parents were tucked away in their own. It was easier for Chris to sneak out as his mother worked erratic hours at the hospital and his father usually went to sleep right after dinner. But with Tom’s parents still awake, they decided to play it safe.

He sent Chris another text.

_I can_ _’_ _t wait for tomorrow to be over. Beach time on Saturday!_

_Me too! You_ _’_ _re going to get all red and adorable._

_I am not! I plan on you holding an umbrella over my head the whole time._

_At your command, puppy._

He heard his parents talking quietly on the stairs and sat up, hoping they were heading to bed for the night. But then his father’s cell phone rang and he lost track of their voices on the second floor.

Sighing, he fell back against the cushions and flipped through the channels. He must have dozed off, because when he startled awake the show he’d been watching was over. The clock above the mantle showed that at least an hour had passed.

His phone had two messages from Chris. He replied right away.

_Sorry took an impromptu nap. Your parents?_

“Darling,”his mother called from the hallway.

Tom sprang to his feet, phone in hand. They were by the front doorway, dressed rather elegantly.

“Where are you two off to?” he asked, smiling.

His mother was pinning some earrings on while his dad scrolled through his phone.

“My boss called. Invited us to a late dinner, says he wants to celebrate how well things have been going at the office.”

“That’s great, dad,” Tom said, excited. This meant they would be gone for longer and probably later than usual. Chris could come over as soon as they left. His heart rate doubled. “Where are you headed?”

“Some Italian restaurant, I think,” his dad said, a bit distracted.

His mother rolled her eyes delicately and kissed Tom’s cheek. “Let us know if you need anything, darling. Don’t wait up.”

He stood on the front walk as they drove away, waving, before heading back in and locking the door.

He was about to text Chris to come over, when his screen blanked out.

“Shit.” His phone was dead. Again.

Trudging up the stairs, he decided to start looking for another phone the next day. Maybe he could get one for a cheap deal online. It was inconvenient to have a phone that was so unreliable, especially since it was the main way he and Chris communicated when apart.

Opening his bedroom door, he flicked on the lights but then froze when he saw the blinds moving, a shape rising behind them. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Darling, I was just about to text you—,” he started, but then stopped short when he saw the hands and sleeves of the person, the curtains falling away to reveal their face.

Not Chris.

_Not Chris. Not Chris. Not Chris._

Tom blinked fast, but Shaw's face was still there.  
Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep and into this insane dream?

Shaw planted both feet on his blue carpeted floor, and smiled at him.

"Hi, Tom."

All the blood drained from Tom’s face.

Shaw’s smile grew wider. He let the blinds fall closed behind him and took a cursory look around his room.

“I’ve watched him do that a hundred times over the last couple of months. Thought I’d try it myself.”

Tom didn't take the time to see if this really was some terrible nightmare. His useless phone slipped between his fingers as he turned on his heel and ran.

**

Chris was lying on his back in his room, tossing a basketball in the air, practicing the precise wrist snap that helped shot accuracy.

His father was in already in bed but Tom still hadn’t responded to his text message. He was so good about texting him right back. He had just woken from his nap, so what was keeping him?

Chris stood and let the ball roll away. Picking up his phone, he dialed Tom's number, going to stand at the window. The call went straight to voicemail and he frowned, looking down at the screen as if it would tell him the reason why. Peeking through the curtains, he gazed out at the quiet, dark street. Tiny, fuzzy lights winked innocently at every driveway. His car was parked on the curb. From where he stood, he could see how dirty it was. He hadn't washed it in so long, busy as he was with night games and school and just being with his boyfriend.

And that's when he caught sight of it.

The handprint that Tom had left on his passenger window over a month ago, now outlined in dust and grime and the steady light of the street lamps, became clearer the closer he peered at it.

Something about it set Chris on edge.

Tom wasn't answering. Maybe his phone had died, but he would have called him over video chat by now. He knew, deep in his gut, that Tom would have gotten ahold of him some way, somehow.

His heart started beating fast, his mind tripping over the last few instances where they'd been afraid to be out in the open in their own neighborhood, holding each other tight even in the parking lot at school, looking over their shoulders.

The street seemed to darken suddenly, making his breath catch tight in his chest.

Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong.

He didn't want to think it. Didn't even want to consider it. But they both knew that Shaw was still a dangerous presence in their lives, a threat. And he'd been seen in their neighborhood before. Outside Tom's house. Looking up at his window. Watching.

Spinning, Chris gave nothing else any thought as he raced down the stairs, his car keys forgotten on the hook by the front door. Bypassing his car, he set off at a dead sprint, heart racing at the streets and dozens of houses that separated him from Tom.

 _Please be okay_ , he thought, urging his legs to run faster.

**

Tom tripped running down the stairs, body flying forward. He caught himself on the bannister, pain lancing through his ribcage. At the sound of footsteps pounding behind him, his voice caught in his throat and he hurried the rest of the way down. Sliding on the cool tile of the hallway, Tom collided into the front door, fingers shaking, trying to unbolt it.

Terrified, he looked over his shoulder to see Shaw racing down the last few steps, face manic, contorted in his anger.

And then Shaw was crashing into his back, fingers curling into his hair cruelly and hard, yanking his head back.

"Don't fucking run from me, you slut." His voice was rough, tongue slicking over that last word, sending chills down Tom's spine.

"No! Don't fucking touch—."

Shaw pulled Tom's head back and slammed him against the door, pain blooming over his right eyebrow.

Tom cried out, feeling a gush of warmth burst over the right side of his face. His vision blurred and he felt himself tilting. But Shaw kept a tight hold on him, only to grunt in pain when Tom lifted his arm and elbowed him in the gut, bringing his right heel down on Shaw's foot.

Loose now, Tom fell to his knees but scrambled up fast, desperate not to lose his balance. His right eye was watery and he wiped at it fast, horrified to see red all over his hand.

There was a phone in the kitchen, and he raced to reach it. He was heaving now, tears blurring his sight, wrecking his voice.

A hand clapped tightly over his mouth. He screamed loudly, but it was muffled against the soft cloth that was pressed to his nose. He clawed at the arm wrapped around his neck, nails digging into the exposed skin of Shaw's wrist.

The acrid scent of chemicals filled his nostrils and he felt his eyes roll back into his head. Panting, his body desperate for clean air, Tom struggled against the strong grip on his face, but even as he fought, all the strength left his body and he fell limp, Shaw's arms catching him before he fell.

Shaw knelt on the floor, holding Tom’s body close to his. He kept the rag pressed to Tom’s mouth, the other wrapped tightly around his back, cradling him roughly. Dizzy, Tom blinked, his legs jerking, the room spinning. Unable to catch his breath through the thick cloth, Tom could feel the chemicals stinging his throat and nasal passage with every wheeze. A wave of vertigo hit him and he sagged against Shaw’s body from the weight of it, giving up his struggle. 

But before Tom could lose consciousness entirely, Shaw threw the rag aside, impatient, eyes wide and bright, breathing heavily at the sight of him in his arms, sluggish and prone.

"Look at you," he said, caressing Tom's hair gently, fingers trailing through the sticky blood on his face. "Look what you've done. You've gone and hurt yourself." Tom squirmed weakly, the hard muscle of Shaw's thigh pressing into his back making him nauseous. Or maybe it was the fumes of the chemicals already deep in his lungs. He struggled to remain awake, blinking to see past the haze of everything.

"I couldn't believe my luck," Shaw was saying, touching his cheek. "Watching the house for hours. I thought it would pass like every other night. I was all ready to go home and jerk off to you. But then no boyfriend around for a while. Parents leaving. You at the front door...wearing nothing but this," he said, eyes drifting to Tom's body, clad in cotton shorts and a loose shirt. "And I thought to myself...this is my chance. He's been climbing in and out so easily. I had a feeling the window would be unlocked."

Tears gathered in Tom's eyes and he felt them spill hotly, softly, his only thought of Chris.

Shaw licked his lips and cast a look around the dim kitchen. "Let's get you into better light. I want to see all of you." He straightened and looked ready to pick Tom up and carry him.

Tom's arm lifted suddenly and he raked his nails down the side of Shaw's face.

Shaw screamed and clutched at his cheek. Tom rolled and flopped onto his stomach, dizzy, shaking, gasping. Fingers like claws, trying to push with his knees, trying to crawl, he dragged himself, desperate to get away.

Hands grasped the back of his calves and he sobbed brokenly.

“Please—no!” he mumbled, his mind shouting one name over and over.

He bit back the urge to vomit.

“Yes,” Shaw growled, dragging Tom into the living room, one hand around his neck, choking him. He threw him down in the middle of the room, the ceiling light glaring in his eyes. Shaw leaned over him, a hideous shadow, outlined in fire. The blood leaking into Tom’s eye made it more so. “Fighting suddenly,” Shaw said, kneeling at his side. He started working on Tom’s clothes, ripping his shorts down. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your show of bravery, Tom. That day in the street. That day you walked to his house. You knew I was behind you, didn’t you? You knew. That adorable show of bravery just won’t do. It’s not in your nature, Tom.” He stopped suddenly and peered down at Tom, eyes going soft with disgusting affection. “You’re so much more beautiful when you’re afraid.”

Tom was barely conscious, shaking his head back and forth, vision flickering. He tried shoving Shaw’s hands away, his own trembling badly, but there was no strength in his touch. He felt the cool air hit his bare thighs and his eyes sprang open, a choked cry on his lips. Shaw was staring down at him with a look of pure rapture, hand inching closer to Tom’s groin.

Mustering every bit of his strength, Tom lifted his leg, shorts tangled around his ankles, and clipped Shaw on the chin with the knobby point of his knee, the blow rattling through his own bones.

Shaw groaned and collapsed to the side as Tom rolled onto his stomach, crawling again, trying to cry out for help, tears choking his throat. And then he was violently flipped once more, Shaw’s fist swinging from out of nowhere, landing squarely on Tom’s jaw.

His head snapped back and light burst over his vision. He went limp again, unable to fight as Shaw rolled him onto his stomach, just as he’d been before.

“Tom,” he heard softly, hands cinching around his waist, maneuvering him. Tom blinked, the entire living room tilting. “Are you tight, Tom?”

He couldn’t look. He didn’t dare look. Shaw was behind him, rubbing slowly, letting Tom feel how hard he was. “He’s had you, hasn’t he? He’s had to have had you already. How could he not? Did he force you the first time? Oh, what a privilege to have felt you struggle beneath him. Just like you’re doing now.”

Tom, in all his dazed panic, realized with growing horror that not only was Shaw jealous of Chris, but he was also somewhat in awe of him, thinking that he had been able to conquer Tom through violent force, claiming him in some sick, sadistic way.

And absurdly, disgustingly, he thought he could do the same now.

Reaching his hands back, Tom fought to cover his exposed skin, ragged cries breaking from his throat. He tried kicking, but Shaw anchored his legs down when he straddled Tom from behind, pressing him harder into the floor.

“Oh, he’s been busy,” Shaw murmured, staring down at the bruises and bites on Tom’s inner thighs, tracing the finger marks on his hips.

 _Don_ _’_ _t touch them_ , Tom thought savagely, fresh tears bursting from his eyes. _They_ _’_ _re his_ _…_ _only his._

Like the stuff from his nightmares, Shaw’s fingers began prodding at his entrance and Tom thrashed, trying to throw him off, begging him to stop. His mind felt so heavy, his limbs running on a circuit he was unable to command. And then he choked on a cry of pain as Shaw’s fingers thrust inside him, agony flaring up his spine.

He whimpered, grimacing, as the dry, chaffed fingers dragged out, only to push back in roughly.

Blood was dripping horizontally down Tom’s face, and he stared as a thick glob of it fell off the edge of his nose and soaked into the fibers of the carpet.

His heart clenched in fear when he heard the telltale clink of Shaw unbuckling his belt. Head and jaw throbbing, blood trickling down his face, Tom closed his eyes as blackness edged in slowly.

**

Rounding the corner at a full sprint onto Tom’s street, Chris gasped his surprise. One of the vehicles was gone from the front driveway. Were Tom’s parents gone? Had the three of them left somewhere? Was Tom with them?

_Oh god, please let him be safe with them._

A set of headlights washed over him at that moment and he shielded his eyes, skidding to a stop in front of the house. The passenger door opened and Tom’s mother stepped out.

“Well, we were nearly there, James. Why would he have invited you to dinner if he expected you to pay?”

Tom’s father said something from within the car.

Mrs. Hiddleston sighed. “I’ll go find it. It’s probably on your bedside—.”She caught sight of Chris, her eyes going wide. “Oh! Hi, Chris. Are you—is everything alright?”

He ran up to her, his wide eyes taking in the empty backseat. “Is the door locked?”

She took a step back, taking in his panicked expression, his heavy breathing. “Is—.”

“The door! Is it locked? Please!”He pleaded with his eyes and suddenly, her face went very still.

She reached into the car, her eyes never leaving Chris’s. “The keys, James. Give them here.”

The car shut off and then she and Chris were hurrying up the drive, keys in hand.

“What’s this about, Chris? What’s wrong?” she asked, fumbling with the keys, inserting the right one into the doorknob.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, hands shaking. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

As soon as the door was open, Chris took off inside at a run, half way up the stairs before catching sight of the scene in the living room through the bars of the banister. His heart stopped, his whole world collapsing entirely.

“No!” he gasped, vaulting over the rail in one fast move, landing squarely on both feet and rushing through the archway into the family room.

Shaw, hands working to unzip his trousers, must not have heard them enter the house, because it took mere seconds for him to turn his head in shock that would have been comical had Chris not been blinded by pure rage. Tackling into him from the side with a loud cry, Chris tore him off Tom’s body, which was face down on the carpet.

He was vaguely aware of a scream from Tom’s mother, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she darted to her son’s side, before Chris lost himself to the sack of shit trying to wiggle out from under him. Chris got one good punch in before Shaw lifted his legs wildly and threw Chris off with a sudden twist of his torso. He scrambled to his feet just as Chris started to rise, but then brought the heel of his foot down hard on Chris’s right wrist.

There was the loud snap of bone and Chris screamed in pain, red tinting his vision.

“James! James! Call the police!” Tom’s mother was screaming, holding Tom in her arms, trying to pull up his shorts. She was sobbing, her mascara gathered in the soft lines under her eyes.

Chris had only one single, eternal second to see that Tom wasn’t moving, his head lolling against his mother’s arm as she yanked at his shorts with her other hand. And there was so much blood.

He turned away, teeth gritted, and grabbed Shaw’s ankle with his good hand, holding his injured wrist against his stomach. He pulled hard and Shaw lost his balance, collapsing to the floor in a flabby heap. Jumping on top of him, Chris braced his knee against Shaw’s chest and pressed down, hard.

Shaw’s face turned a bright red, struggling against Chris’s leg.

Rearing back, Chris fisted his good hand, and with a broken cry, began pummeling Shaw in the face, the satisfactory, painful, _deserving_ give of Shaw’s jaw, cheeks, nose beneath his knuckles doing nothing to erase the fury, the pain, the horror of seeing Tom lying so still beneath this—.

“Piece…of…SHIT!” he screamed, accentuating every word with a hard blow.

Shaw was a bloody mess beneath him, limp and unconscious. But it wasn’t enough. All the weeks of close calls and Tom holding him back and Shaw’s whispers in empty classrooms and empty hallways, the cold hungry stares, all the anger and raging sense of helplessness he and Tom had felt for months, all of it loosened somewhere deep inside him. Every blow held a sharp chunk of that exhausting fear. The crash of his knuckles against Shaw’s soft cheek felt like some sort of elated awakening that Chris could only compare to the sweet victory of winning something he’d fought so hard to control. Something he felt was his by right.

Shaw would never touch Tom again. Would never hurt him again. Wouldn’t make him scared, or hesitant. His face wouldn’t pale in fear again, he wouldn’t feel the need to hide.

Tom would be free and his entirely and lovely.

Chris couldn’t hit Shaw hard enough. 

“Chris!” Tom’s father shouted, as Chris grabbed a fistful of Shaw’s hair and slammed his head down against the floor.

Tears of rage blurred his sight, ragged, broken sobs pouring from between clenched teeth.

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!”

“Chris! Chris…son, enough. Stop!”

Arms wrapped around his chest from behind, tugging him away from Shaw’s motionless body.

“No!” he cried, fighting to detach himself. There was still a lucid part of his brain that realized the only threat was in front of him, and he was careful not to accidentally strike Tom’s father, who held him tight against his chest, hands like claws to hold him steady. His wrist, already swelling, throbbed with every beat of his heart, every hitched sob.

Voices sounded at the front door and then two police officers ran into the room, hands on their holsters, calculated eyes taking in the chaos in the family room.

Chris’s eyes found Tom, still held by his mother, the blood stain on the carpet glaring next to their bodies. He struggled to free himself again, to go to him, but maybe because Tom’s father was afraid he would return to beating Shaw, he held him even tighter, not relinquishing his hold on Chris.

“Let me go,” he whispered. “Please, let me go to him. He needs me. Please,” he sobbed. “I need to go to him.”

Mr. Hiddleston hesitated a moment and then released him, watching with wide eyes as Chris scrambled to his knees and crawled to Tom.

Mrs. Hiddleston was pointing at Shaw, screaming that he had been assaulting her son, that he had…that he had—.

She couldn’t say it and burst into tears again, gripping Tom harder, his face pressed to the soft curve of her breast.

Chris knelt by them as the police officers stood over Shaw, one of them murmuring, “Holy shit,”before requesting two ambulances on his radio. Tom’s father was still kneeling in the middle of the room, mouth open, eyes staring vacantly.

“Baby,” Chris whispered, using his good hand to touch Tom’s face. “Baby, can you hear me? Tom?”

Tom’s mother took Chris’s elbow, squeezing gently, drawing him closer. Her watery eyes searched his face and Chris noticed a smear of blood on her trembling jaw.

“Who is he, Chris? Who is that man? The man who hurt my boy?”

Chris felt bile rise in his throat as he turned to stare at Shaw. One officer knelt by him, checking his pulse and nodding to his partner, who was approaching Mr. Hiddleston, speaking softly to him.

“He’s our teacher,” he said hoarsely, closing his eyes to the entire scene.

Her eyes went wide, jaw slack, turning to look at where Shaw lay and then back at Chris.

Sirens sounded in the distance and then the room was suddenly filled with so many people. Dressed in blue with a white symbol on her sleeve, one paramedic spoke lowly to Chris, gently. He couldn’t understand her. It was as if all sound had been snuffed out and he held tightly to Tom’s fingers, resisting the hands on his shoulders pressing him back, urging him to give them room.

“He’s not okay, he’s not okay,” he kept murmuring, their hands torn apart. “Please help him!” He watched, speechless, as two paramedics pried Tom from his mother’s arms, Mr. Hiddleston rushing to help her to stand. She clung to her husband, eyes never leaving her son. They checked Tom’s pulse, determined him alive, and set him gently on his back as another paramedic rolled a gurney into the room, a stiff white blanket folded over the top.

Chris still fought the gentle but firm hands on his shoulders, watching with muted whispers as the medics checked Tom over, careful with the wound on his forehead.

He and Shaw were loaded into separate ambulances, both parents climbing in after Tom’s gurney. Numb, Chris was guided to a chair in the dining room, a paramedic crouching before him to check Chris’s wrist and the lacerations on his left hand. She prepped a brace around his swollen wrist and secured the Velcro carefully.

Chris didn’t feel a thing.

“An officer can take you to the hospital. Are you okay to stand?”

“I want to go with him,”he said, looking over her head at the ambulance doors closing. “That’s my boyfriend. I need to go with him!”

“I understand that. But you are not related by blood, and there is no more room in that vehicle. A police officer will get you to the hospital and you can get your wrist checked out. Okay?”

He visibly deflated and sat there, biting back tears as the ambulance’s siren sounded loudly, pulling away from the curb where it had been haphazardly parked. The paramedic steadied him with a firm hand as he stood and helped him to the front door. She climbed into the second ambulance before it disappeared down the street.

Chris became uncomfortably aware of the concerned stares of the neighbors who had come out of their homes, wearing robes and slippers, watching the silent house yawning open behind him, empty, and whispering. Their faces were ghostly pale in the flashing blue and red lights of the two remaining police cruisers.

He tucked his head low, face burning.

“What’s your name, son?” an older black police officer said, taking Chris by the elbow and leading him down the front steps.

“Chris,” he mumbled. His stomach seized and he fell to his knees on the lawn, vomiting. He was shaking violently, coughing up onto the grass, feeling faint.

“Easy now. Do you live around here, Chris? Do you live in this house?”

“No. My friend does. They just took him away. I have to get to the hospital!”

The officer squatted next to him in the damp grass. “How old are you, son? Were you here when it all happened?”

“Eighteen. I’m eighteen. Yes. I saw…I came right in the…in the middle—.” His breath hitched and he tried to swallow, tears flowing steadily.

“Give me a number I can call. A parent. We’ll need you to make a statement. Can you do that?”

He nodded and while the officer called his father, two more came to help Chris to his feet and guided him to the back of one of their cars. Chris went without a fuss, eyes on the ground before him. Nudging his head down to sit in the back seat, they closed the door and he was thrown into alarming silence.

He sat mutely, hands trembling in his lap, gaze blurring as he stared at the thread design of the headrest before him. Tom's absence from his side was like a physical ache. Images kept flashing in his mind. Tom bleeding, Tom not moving, his shorts pulled down to his knees. He remembered all those times Tom had woken up from a nightmare, afraid, confused, struggling in Chris’s arms, dreading the exact thing that had just happened.

His stomach twisted painfully.

After only a few minutes, his dad arrived, face white.

“What is this? Why is my son in your car!”

Chris turned at the muffled sound of his father’s voice, his breath fogging on the cruiser’s window.

He tried opening the door, but could find no handles. The officer pulled it open and his dad ran to him, hugging him, checking him over, eyes landing immediately on his broken wrist. “He needs to be taken to a hospital.”

“We need a statement from him first, sir. It will only take a few minutes.”

His father’s jaw clenched, but he turned to Chris, cradling his wrist, examining the brace and his bloody, split knuckles. “Alright, Chris. Tell this officer what happened.”

And so he did, starting with becoming worried that Tom wasn’t answering his text messages or phone calls. Running to his house, opening the door, finding Shaw. He tried to keep the facts in the order that they happened, but his anger was so _alive_ inside him, stretching his skin tight, curling over every single fiber of his being.

The police officer took notes, asked him to repeat a few details, and thanked him. He offered to escort them to the hospital, and Chris’s father slid beside him into the back of the cruiser.

 “He was going to rape him, dad,” Chris said softly, hot tears running down his face. Mindless scenery flashed by their windows. “He was going to rape him and I…I couldn’t—.”

“Alright, son. Alright, it’s alright,” he dad murmured, hugging him again. “His parents are with him?”

Chris nodded, wiping at his face angrily. “The medics wouldn’t let me go with him. They just…they just took him!”

“Shh, Okay. It’s okay,” his dad said, trying comfort him. He brushed the hair off Chris’s forehead, fingers sliding along his sweaty skin.

Chris lay back against the seat, drawing in great gulps of air, feeling like his heart was going to explode. His father called Chris’s mother from the car, explaining what had happened.

When they arrived she met them in the emergency room, immediately taking Chris to a back room. She felt his pulse and met his father’s eyes over his head. People bustled around him, guiding him here and there. He somehow ended up on his back in a bed, a needle pressed to the vein in the crook of his arm. He looked around wildly, his parents’ presence doing only so much to ease his worry.

“Tom.”

His eyes were drooping, limbs feeling heavier by the minute. He felt hands on him, but couldn’t focus his sight on anything.

“Tom…baby, where—.”

Someone hushed him and touched his hair gently.

“Please…Tom. Where is he? Please!”

He kept asking, but received no answer from the people bustling around him. Whatever was in that syringe set the room spinning, his eyes closing against his will. His parents leaned over him, saying something softly, but darkness swam over his vision and, with a pained groan, he let it all go.

**

Chris woke sometime later. The room was quiet. He shifted and looked down to see his wrist in a hard plaster cast. His left hand had been cleaned up, but was still cut up badly and bruised dark purple, a few bandages covering the worst of the cuts on his knuckles.

“Chris.”

He startled and flipped over, his head pounding. His father was sitting on the chair by his bedside. He set his phone aside and came to stand next to Chris.

“Where is he?” he asked, eyes darting over the room.

“He’s sleeping,” his dad said, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. “He regained consciousness shortly after arriving here. He started asking for you.”

Chris burst into motion, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. The pounding in his head increased, but he ignored it. His dad hurried around the bed, palms up.

“He’s sleeping, Chris. They gave him something for the pain. He has a very mild concussion. They have him in a dark room to prevent the light from bothering him. I spoke with James a couple hours ago—.”

“A couple hours ago! How long have I been asleep?”

They both looked up at the clock above the door. It was just after five in the morning. “Longer than a couple of hours. Look, your mother was there when the police debriefed Tom’s parents about Mr. Shaw. They told them that he’s in pretty bad shape.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. “Good.”

“Now, wait a minute, Chris,” his dad said. “According to them, he's most likely still alive because you were hitting him with your left hand. He has a broken eye socket, shattered cheek bone, a broken nose, and some splintered teeth. He'll probably lose the sight in one eye."

Staring at him as if asking _what is the big fucking deal_ , Chris waited for his dad to continue. "One of the hospital's legal representatives stopped by after hearing what happened. He said that due to the highly aggravated nature of the assault on Mr. Shaw, he could be allowed to press charges against you."

Chris stood still, hands open, not understanding the words being said.

His dad sighed. "You could be found guilty of aggravated assault, Chris. We won't know for sure until Mr. Shaw's lawyer arrives. He hasn't yet."

Chris blinked. "Are you fucking serious?"

His dad hesitated and then laughed softly. "That's exactly what James said. He came to your defense. Saying you were defending Tom and yourself from Mr. Shaw. He broke your wrist and you were defending yourself. And well, there are multiple witnesses to what he did to Tom."

"I need to see him, dad," he said. "He was asking for me." His voice broke and he swallowed thickly. "Please." That Tom had called for him, that he needed him and Chris hadn't been there, was enough to make Chris ready to tear the hospital apart to find him.

"Okay. James said to bring you by when you were awake."

As they made their way to the door, Chris took his dad’s arm suddenly.

“Tell me, please. Did he…Did Shaw actually…?”

His dad’s face softened and he sighed. “Your mother told me that a rape kit was performed on Tom. You know, they evaluated him. And his injuries. Took samples. There was some tearing, but not from that kind of…penetration. She thinks he used his…fingers…first. And that's where you...where you came in.”He looked at the floor as Chris felt his heart descend a few degrees lower in his chest, the pain heavy, like earth packed tight in the hollow spaces between his ribcage.

"What about Shaw? Did they sample him too? If he...his fingers..."

"They did. Everything's been handled."

His hands itched to tighten into fists at the thought of that creep jamming his fingers into Tom, startling him, dry, rough. Invasive. Violating him.

“Come on,” his dad said softly, taking his shoulder and opening the door.

They went up three floors to the Trauma Unit.

“Was mom supposed to even tell you those things? About Tom?” Chris asked, once they were sealed in the elevator.

“Technically no. But this isn’t just any other patient of hers. This is Tom. And he’s family.”

“Thank you, dad,” he whispered, at a loss for words. “Where's Shaw?" he asked quietly after a moment, something about the hospital's bright hallways making him conscious of the volume of his voice.

"They wouldn't tell me. But James said that he was under police guard."

Chris said nothing, flexing his left hand.

They came to a closed room and his dad knocked softly. Tom's dad, James, opened it a crack. When he saw it was them, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. The room had been dark inside.

"Chris," he said, hugging him tightly. "Are you okay?"

Chris hugged him back, nodding against his shoulder. "I'm fine." He pulled back and looked him in the eye. "I need to see him."

"He hasn't said anything apart from asking for you," James admitted, clasping his hands tightly. "The police have been by to question him but he wouldn't speak to them. Or to his mother and I."

There was a devastation written over James' face, the lines around his mouth and forehead more pronounced. Deeper.

"I don't know what to make of--of any of this, Chris. We just don’t understand. How—how did that man enter our home? How did he get his hands on my son?"

His face crumpled and he hid it in his hands, weeping quietly. Chris's dad touched his shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Please," Chris said. "This isn't your fault."

_It_ _’_ _s mine._

"Thank you for what you did back there," James said, wiping his tears quickly. "You saved him. You kept that man from.... Listen, we'll fight it. If he files charges against you, we'll fight it, Chris. You have my word."

He hugged Chris once more and then slipped back into the room to bring out his wife. When she emerged, her face was drawn tight and pale. Her eyes were slightly unfocused and Chris wondered if she had been given something to calm her too.

"Christopher," she said softly, reaching to touch his cheek. There was something about the way she said his name that was like a knife in his heart. She said it just as Tom would say it.

"Such a good young man," she said. "Taking care of him. Protecting him. Thank you, Chris. Thank you." She sagged against him and James quickly stepped in to gather her in his arms, nodding for Chris to enter the room.

Glancing at his dad first, who nodded, Chris took a deep breath and turned the door handle.

The room was dark, not entirely pitch black like he had thought at first. But dark. There was a night-light shaped like a half-moon plugged into a socket on the farthest wall, casting a soft, muted glow over everything.

Tom was a small curled up ball beneath the thin hospital sheet.

He shifted as Chris approached, his eyes opening slowly.

Standing by the edge of the bed, Chris stared down at him. He had a bandage over his temple and there was a dark bruise on his jaw. One of Tom's eyes was tinted red, severely irritated. He could barely make out the red marks on his neck. Chris felt rage and sadness build within him at what other marks on Tom’s body were hidden from him.

“Baby,” he gasped, tears swimming in his eyes.

Tom blinked slowly and moved his arm from under the sheet, his fingers curling around Chris’s hand. He tugged and Chris eased his leg up on the bed. Tom scooted over slowly, wincing, before settling back down on his side, hand still loosely clutching Chris’s bruised fingers.

Lying down beside him, Chris hesitated, not wanting to startle Tom by touching him before he was ready. But Tom closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms tight around Chris, who cradled Tom against his chest, feeling his heart cinch at the hurt pouring off Tom. He could feel it. In the tiny tremors of Tom’s body, the silent tears soaking into his shirt, the fingers grasping at his back.

Tom inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent, and then moaned quietly, clasping himself closer.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t there. Baby, I wasn’t there and you faced him alone and—and I’m sorry.”

Tom hugged him tighter, pressing his face to Chris’s throat, kissing it once.

“No,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “It’s not your fault. Please don’t think that, Christopher.”

They lay in silence. Tom’s hand drifted down to the cast around Chris’s wrist.

“He hurt you.”

“He hurt you worse.” And then quietly, “That was one promise I had to break, Tom. I fought him. And I won’t ever regret what I did to him.”

Tom started shaking again and Chris kissed his forehead quickly, holding him flush against him.

“Don’t cry, my love. Don't cry. I’m here now.”

Tom whimpered, voice thick. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me, Chris. I don’t—I don’t know how to sleep…without you.”

Tears spilled from Chris’s eyes, rolling into Tom’s curls, knowing exactly what Tom meant.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tom. They can’t keep me from you anymore. Not again.”

Snuggling closer, Tom sighed quietly, heavily, all tension leaving his body as if by having Chris next to him, he felt okay to finally breathe. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Chris brought the sheet up higher on Tom’s shoulder, skimming his cheek with his thumb, determined that he wouldn't be parted from Tom's side again.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. This chapter is the start of Chris and Tom's healing. There is a a bit of dialogue in this one, but I feel that a lot of things had to be said. Last chapter was rough. Thank you for all your lovely, supportive comments and for being such wonderful readers <3
> 
> As always, thank you to duskyhuedladysatan, for being the best beta xoxo

Lying quietly together in the dim room, Chris hummed softly against Tom’s forehead. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d laid down with him, but he wasn’t worried about it. He simply listened to Tom breathe softly, thankful for the warm, solid feel of him in his arms, kissing his temple gently every now and then. Tom seemed just about ready to drift off when the door cracked open, allowing a strong beam of light into the room. A doctor stepped in, accompanied by Tom's father.

Startling from his doze, Tom gasped and clung harder to Chris, eyes darting over the room at large. Chris murmured low to him, drawing Tom as close to himself as possible. Hesitating only slightly at the sight of the two boys curled up in the bed together, the doctor explained in a low voice that he was there to check the condition of Tom's concussion and then discuss sending Tom home.

"Do you mind if your boyfriend stands off to the side while I examine you?"

Peeking over Chris's shoulder, Tom eyed the doctor, his fingers curling slowly on the back of Chris's shirt.

Taking the hint smoothly, the doctor moved on to the next question. "Are you able to sit up for me?" he asked, pulling out a pen light from his coat pocket.

Tom blinked and then lay back down against Chris, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, a blatant refusal.

Chris touched his face softly. "Would you rather a female doctor did it, babe?" he whispered.

Tom shook his head, pressing closer.

"Your father could do it," the doctor suggested quietly, kindly. "Or your boyfriend. It's just a simple matter of checking your eyes. I can ask you the questions after."

They waited a moment while Tom made his decision. And then finally, the tiniest whisper. "Chris."

The doctor nodded and held the pen light to Chris.

"Shine the light into his eyes. I'll be watching for any reaction in his pupils."

Chris clicked the end tip as Tom settled his shoulders flat against the bed, keeping his eyes closed, mouth slightly parted.

"Baby," he whispered and Tom opened his eyes, lashes trembling. "Ready?"

When Tom nodded, Chris shone the light into his eyes. Tom flinched but held them open. Chris watched the pupils contract to near pin points, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. He tried to ignore the dark purple bruise creeping over the middle of his forehead, down his eyebrow and across his temple. It seemed the bandage was hiding the worst of it.

Chris felt the now familiar tight grip of anger curl awake at seeing Tom like this, all the bruising and bleeding and tears. Still colored red, Tom’s right eye stood out starkly, the blue sharp, unnervingly so. Tom blinked up at him and swallowed, tiny bruises specking the tender skin beneath his bottom lashes.

"Good," the doctor murmured, marking something on his clipboard. "Much better reaction than last night. The right pupil hardly moved at all."

Chris gave him his pen light back and Tom's face disappeared against his neck again.

“Have you slept at all, Tom?”

Silence. And then he shook his head.

“Not even when you were given something for the pain?” the doctor asked, wanting to clarify.

Quietly, “A little bit.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

Tom’s lashes fluttered against Chris’s throat as he thought. His voice was hoarse. So hoarse. From where that bastard choked him. “Wednesday? T-today is Wednesday?”

It was Friday morning. Chris and James looked at each other, but both remained quiet. Chris rubbed Tom’s back slowly, encouraging him silently.

The doctor made another note.

“And do you remember anything about what happened…last night?

Fingers tightened on his back and Chris waited nervously.

“Yes,” Tom whispered. “I-I remember some things.”

Changing direction, the doctor asked Tom about his appetite or if he’d experienced any kind of nausea over the last five to seven hours.

Reverting back to silence, Tom nodded.

“Do you think you could eat anything now? Do you have an appetite?”

Head shake.

“Urge to vomit?”

Nod

“Do you remember how often?”

Tom held up two fingers against Chris’s back and the doctor wrote something on his clipboard.

“Do you have a headache?”

Tom hesitated, rubbing his temple on Chris’s shoulder. “Dull. It’s throbbing.”

The doctor capped his pen and held the clipboard against his stomach. “Thank you, Tom. Your concussion seems to have improved. You’ll be able to go home later today. Given you avoid direct light, both sunlight and artificial. And keep an eye on your appetite, if it increases or remains the same. Same with the nausea. We can give you something to suppress it if it becomes too strong. Do you have any questions for me?”

Tom turned into Chris.

“What is it, love?”

A whisper. 

“What was that?” he asked, bending his head low.

Lips at his ear, Tom whispered again and then Chris lifted his head. “He wants to shower.”

Checking his notes, the doctor nodded “Yes. Shouldn’t be a problem. As evidence has already been gathered. In fact, you can do that now, if you’d like, in the adjoining bathroom. But depending on how you feel, someone will need to help you.”

“Yes,” James said from the side, “why don’t Chris and I head to the house, pick up a change of clothes for you and come back, while your mother helps you wash up?”

Tom looked at the three of them in turn, his grip on Chris tightening fractionally. Chris could see the panic start to creep into his eyes.

Chris looked at James over Tom’s head and shook his head once, discreetly.

“Better yet,” James said, catching on, “I’ll ask Craig to come with me.”

“Yeah,” Chris said, voice low, “Dad can go with him. I’m not leaving, okay, babe?

James was nodding quietly, a sad smile on his face. “Then we’ll take you home, son.”

Tom looked up at Chris, eyes filling with tears. “You’ll stay?”

Fighting the urge to weep himself, Chris nodded, tracing Tom’s uninjured eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. “Yes, baby. I’m staying right here with you. Do you want them to bring you back something in particular?” he asked, desperate to get that scared look off Tom’s face. He had the sinking feeling it would be a long time before it would be gone entirely.

Tom’s shoulders relaxed minutely, biting his lip gently. “Jeans. And my…my drama shirt. The black one. And Chris’s jacket. It’s on my…” He frowned, brow furrowing. “It’s in my—it’s in my room.”

“Which jacket?”

“My letterman jacket,” Chris said. “He keeps it in his closet.”

James nodded. “Want me to go get your mother? So she can help you shower?”

 Another nod and then they were left alone again, James clasping Tom’s hand tightly before closing the door behind him.

“Do you want to sleep a bit, babe? Before your shower? I’ll be right here.” He carded his fingers through Tom’s hair gently, slightly damp with sweat.

But Tom shook his head, as Chris figured he would, even if it had seemed as if Tom had been on the verge of dozing off when they were interrupted earlier. And Chris really thought Tom should sleep.

Or maybe that’s why Tom wasn’t sleeping. Maybe he fell right back into the same nightmare scenario from which he’d escaped by losing consciousness the night before.

Maybe sleep wasn't the best option right now.

There was a light knock on the door and then Tom’s mother, Diana, poked her head in.

She pushed back Tom’s curls, smiling down at him. “Darling. Chris, love,” she said, touching each on the arm gently. “Let’s get you showered, okay?”

Chris sat up first, Tom keeping a firm hand on his shoulder as he followed suit, gingerly, with a wince. “Come here, babe. I’ll help you stand.” With arms wrapped around Tom’s waist, they got Tom to his feet. Chris noticed every cringe, every grimace, every small gasp of pain, and gritted his teeth against his renewed anger, focusing instead on keeping Tom steady.

“Slow now,” Chris whispered, watching Tom’s eyes start to flutter.

Tom, wearing a pale, cotton shift provided by the hospital, swayed and Chris pulled him close, kissing his temple, murmuring soft words. Guiding him across the room, their steps stilted, Chris steadied Tom, who limped slightly.

With school and late nights studying, he and Tom hadn’t had sex for days the night Shaw attacked him. Chris could only imagine the pain Tom felt from Shaw’s sick ministrations, having something thrust into him without preparation, being so terrified and unsuspecting.

Chris wished Mr. Hiddleston had let him hit Shaw for just a minute longer.

They entered the bathroom and Tom flinched at the fluorescent light, closing his eyes tight.

“Maybe we could bring the night light in here,” he suggested to Diana, who nodded fast and went to retrieve it. Turning the light switch off, they waited in darkness while the night light was plugged in.

“Better, babe?”

Tom whispered yes, and they stepped over to the flat shower.

As Diana adjusted the water’s temperature, Chris felt the tremble in Tom’s limbs, the fatigue in his drooping eyes, the weak grip he kept on his shoulders.

The last thing he wanted was for Tom to fall and further injure himself.

“Mrs. Hiddleston, would it be alright if I stayed and helped? I could hold him and you could, you know. Wash.”

She straightened. “You’ll get all wet, love,” she said, brows drawn together.

Chris, personally, didn’t care, but he had to consider the drive home in wet clothes. Casting his gaze around the bathroom, he spotted a blue hospital gown folded over the toilet tank. “I’ll put that on. Baby,” he said, addressing Tom. “Can you sit on this stool for me while I change?” He reached and dragged over a white plastic stool with sturdy, squat legs that was probably meant for older patients.

Tom nodded and Chris sidestepped with him, helping him ease his weight down on the stool. Diana began helping Tom remove his shift, while Chris stripped to his boxers, pulling on the hard paper gown. He returned to Tom’s side, his nude body looking extremely pale in the rosy glow of the night light. Tom tried covering himself with his lean, trembling hands, but must have realized it would be no use, and only held them loosely on his lap.

He eyed Chris’s cast. “You won’t be able to play anymore,” he said softly, eyes drifting to the floor.

Glancing down at his fresh cast, Chris realized Tom was right. But Chris would have willingly broken both legs if it meant Tom wouldn’t have had to experience the trauma of the night before. And the last thing he needed was for Tom to feel guilty about his wrist.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling on the tile floor beside his stool. He touched Tom's hair. “This is nothing. This will heal up in no time. I’ll be playing again soon. I don’t care about this. I care about you. You’re my priority. Always.”

Tom’s bottom lip was trembling and tears soaked his eyelashes, falling over his cheeks. His breath hitched. “I’m sorry, Christopher.”

Diana watched them both, tears in her own eyes, soothing the back of Tom’s neck gently.

Chris felt his throat start to close up. “Don’t be,” he said, smiling. “For you, I’d do it all over again. Break every bone in my body if it meant you were safe, that he wouldn’t touch you again.”

Tom reached for him and Chris took him in his arms, hugging him gently.

There was a knock on the door in the main room and Diana left to see who it was.

“I’m right here, baby. Okay? I'm right here,” Chris said, his chest tight. Tom nodded, swallowing down his tiny gasps. Diana came back in a minute later.

“Just a nurse,” she said, hurrying to help Chris with Tom, who was pushing shakily to his feet.

“She said we can remove your bandage, love. To wash your hair and face. And that she would replace it.”

They did just that, pulling at the adhesive tape gently. It was worse than Chris thought.

There was a huge bump hidden only slightly by Tom’s hairline, but the skin around and below was dark purple and red, extending as far down as his cheekbone. It could only have come from a massive blow, and Chris had half a mind to go find Shaw and force him to tell Chris how he did it.

He swallowed and focused on the injury. The cut was about an inch long and stitched, but had bled heavily, as evident by the amount of blood on the carpet, if Chris remembered correctly.

It was something he would never forget.

“Alright, darling, in you get,” Diana said, her tone gentle.

Keeping his left arm wrapped around Tom, Chris made sure to both steady him and also keep his cast from getting wet. Whatever pain medication they had given Chris while he’d been asleep was starting to wear off. His arm throbbed from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow, becoming sharper with every passing minute. But he ignored it, holding Tom against him. His eyes drifted to the dark bruise blooming over the left side of Tom’s ribcage. How had that happened? Had Shaw kicked him?

Tom’s mother was careful with how she washed her son, soaping his belly and shoulders, letting the water run down his back and legs before he turned to lean against Chris, back to his front, blinking slowly. She cleaned his hands lovingly, scrubbing suds under his blunt nails, tinted copper with old blood.

Over the past few weeks, Tom had been steadily repainting his thumbs the same light pink color he’d started with in the beginning, bending over his desk, tongue peeking out between his teeth, swiping the soaked brush over the rim of his nail. Chris caught a flash of pink now as Tom moved his hand behind him to grip Chris’s hip, trying to balance himself. The polish was flaking off, only the center colored bright. His toes, however, were still perfect, Chris saw. Like pink jewels in the swirling water of the shower floor.

Tom seemed half asleep, head resting back on Chris’s shoulder. He would murmur softly, butting his forehead drowsily against Chris’s jaw, body tightening sometimes, eyes springing open as if surprised to find himself in a foreign bathroom in undoubtedly the strangest shower he'd ever experienced. As if he'd forgotten why he needed to be there in the first place.

Gripping him around the waist, Chris turned Tom slowly so that they faced each other, whispering for him to lean back. Tom did, eyes nervous and darting over the ceiling. His hands clutched at Chris, pressing their bellies flat, as if he would fall.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispered, arm tightening around the back of Tom’s waist. Diana washed his hair, letting the water cascade over his tangled curls, crusted near the roots with dried blood. The water ran pink for a few seconds, Tom’s face scrunched against the spray of water and the pinpricks of pain on his scalp. Diana wiped his face clean, focusing on the splotches of dried blood missed by the emergency room technicians, especially behind his ears and under his jaw. Tom winced slightly, his skin tight and sensitive. But he set his jaw bravely, despite the dark bruise on it that Chris knew must hurt badly.

“Chris,” Tom whispered.

“Yes, babe,” he said, looking down at him. But Tom seemed only to have needed to hear his voice, or just to make sure that he was there, because he closed his eyes and sighed quietly, saying nothing else.

The water was shut off and they dried him carefully, setting him back down on the plastic stool. Chris dried his legs quickly and stepped into the other room to put his clothes back on, while Diana inspected the cut on Tom’s head.

He heard them talking softly.

“Before we go home, sweetheart, the police would like you to give a statement. About what happened. Would that be alright?”

It was a few moments before, very quietly, Tom spoke, “I don’t want to talk to anyone about it. I…can’t.” His voice was getting thick with tears, and Chris hurried to lace up his shoes.

“I know, my darling,” Diana went on. “But it’s important you give the police officer your side of what happened. This is irrefutable evidence of what that man did to you. Your testimony will help put him behind bars.”

Tom was quiet and Chris waited, ears straining.

And then: “I want Chris to be with me.”

“Yes, my love. Chris will be with you. I know he will.”

The nurse came in to replace the bandage and Chris pointed to the bathroom. She left just as quickly a few minutes later.

When Chris walked back into the bathroom, Tom met his eyes and reached for his hand. Chris took it and squeezed, standing beside the stool. Wrapped in only the thin cotton shift again, Tom sat shivering, head nodding. But he kept his eyes resolutely open, bouncing his heel softly to stay awake.

Diana excused herself to call her husband.

“You’re cold, babe,” Chris said, cupping Tom’s head and resting it on his hip. “Let’s get out of this freezing room and come lie down with me.”

Chris thought Tom would refuse, but he answered with a quiet okay and started to stand. Padding softly to the bed, Chris could see that the exposed parts of Tom's body were covered in chills. He helped Tom lie down first and then climbed in beside him.

As soon as Chris was under the blanket with him, Tom wrapped himself close, burrowing into his side for heat, shivering harder. The entire room was cast in darkness, save for the soft glow spilling from the bathroom doorway, where they'd left the nightlight.

They were quiet for a long moment until Tom spoke.

“They thought I was sleeping.”

Chris angled his head to look at him, his fingers curling around the back of Tom’s neck. “Who, babe?”

Tom sighed, snuggling closer. “Everyone. But I wasn't. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes I’d…I’d see him. I still do, Chris." Tom shuddered and Chris caressed his cheek, nuzzling his hair. "But they would talk when they thought I was asleep. They talked about what happened. They talked about you. About what you did. How you beat him. How he broke your wrist and you fought on. I heard everything.”

Chris held still, their cocoon of warmth reminding him of their many nights sleeping in Tom's room, happy and giggling, talking about the future, with none of this weighing them down.

"They won't tell you this, Chris, but the adults are pretty in awe of you."

Chris frowned. "Why?"

Tom looked up at him, eyes doe-like. He trailed his fingers over Chris's brow, thumb skimming his lips.

"Your strength, Christopher. The limit you went to to protect me. Fighting through the pain of your broken wrist."

Chris honestly didn't know what to say. It was just something that he did. It was the only thing that had made sense. Like a fuse lighting in his head. Fight. Save Tom. Period. 

“They’re not…afraid of me, are they?” he finally asked, holding himself still, one long finger twining in one of Tom’s curls.

“I don’t think so, no.

“And you?” he said quietly, breath held tight in his lungs. He tried angling his injured arm low to ease the persistent throbbing, but it remained.

Tom sighed and pressed his cheek to Chris's neck. “I am never afraid of you. Never. I love you, Christopher. And love isn’t about fear.” He breathed out tremulously. “My sweet wolf.”

He was asleep within moments.

**

Tom was sitting on the couch watching a documentary on the life of Christopher Marlowe. His own Christopher just sent him another text that made Tom smile even as he waved to his parents from the front drive.

Flicking light. Moving curtain. “Hi, Tom.”

Tom turned and ran, colliding with the front door and then his head was on fire, something like the scent of plastic burning his throat. Hands on him, hard, rough, flipping him, pushing in and the throaty whisper in his ear, “ _You’re mine._ ”

Tom woke with a gasp. He was alone in the bed, a big body gone from his side.

“Christopher,” he whispered, sitting up halfway, eyes frantic on the empty room.

Or seemingly empty.

“Tom,” he heard from behind him.

He flinched and shut his eyes, not daring to look.

But it was only his mother, who rose from her chair and came to him.

“Darling, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

“Christopher.”

“He’s just outside. His mother came by with pain medication for his arm. You’re about ready for your next dose, too.”

Slowly, he peered up at her, at her soft eyes, turned down at the corners in concern. She reached her hand, and then hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to be touched.

His throat caught and he slid forward on his sore bottom and hugged her tightly around the waist, face pressed to the swell of her breast.

“Oh, darling,” she gasped, hugging him tightly, caressing the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, mom,” he sobbed, hot tears bursting from beneath his eyelids. “I’m sorry.”

She held him tight. “What for, my love? Whatever for?”

Hiccupping, he breathed in her familiar scent. “Because—he…he…”

_He touched me._

He shook his head against her breast, sobbing quietly. “He came into our home a-and…it was my f-fault.”

She pulled back, cupping his moist cheeks in her hands. “You listen to me now, love. This wasn’t your fault. You don’t have to worry about the house. It’s perfectly fine. It has no feelings, no pain. Not like you, sweetheart. You were the one that was hurt. But you must understand something, my love. No matter how much you do or don’t love someone, no matter how long you’ve known them or if you’ve just met them, whether or not there are expectations, no one is allowed to touch you without your permission. You hear me, Tom?”

Slightly horrified and slightly amazed, Tom nodded.

“No one has the right to touch you unless _you_ want them to. It is not your fault, my darling.” Her voice softened at this last part, peering seriously into Tom’s teary eyes.

She kissed his forehead and then something sharpened in her gaze and she straightened. “Do you understand? You are not responsible for this. At all.

Tom hiccupped again, wiping at his eyes. "Yes, mom."

"No one should touch you if you don't consent. Always remember that. It just makes it that much worse..." she whispered, voice deepening slightly with her anger. "Your teacher...someone who should know _better..._ "

She looked up, frustrated, and flicked away the two tears that fell from her eyes, taking a deep breath.

Gazing at him again, she palmed his cheek softly. "You are so amazing, my love," she whispered, letting her other hand rest on the flat plane of his chest. “So wonderful and special. Your heart is bursting with it. I can see that Chris sees that."

Tom blushed, despite himself, and cast his eyes down.

There was a knock on the door and they both turned.

Chris's mother, Dr. Leonie Hemsworth, poked her head in. Tom hadn't seen her since the barbecue his parents hosted two weekends ago. It had been unseasonably warm, almost hot for a day in early spring, and Tom's parents invited Chris and his parents over for some ribs. While their fathers prepped the grill in the backyard, keeping an eye on the basketball game playing in the living room, Leonie and his mother had laughed together, both having made huge pans of honey sweetened corn bread.

"I'm sorry!" Leonie had exclaimed, placing the bread on the kitchen counter. "I meant to call you and confirm what to bring, but the hospital changed shifts on me and I never got the time."

The two women hugged, Diana smiling. "Don't apologize! This is perfect. It's not like these two hounds won't finish everything off," she said, indicating Chris and Tom, who looked up mid-chew, guilty faces and all, mouths already stuffed with corn bread.

Chris had smiled wolfishly and taken Tom's hand, stealing two more pieces before dragging him out of the kitchen and onto the back patio.

"Tom?"

Tom blinked and focused his eyes. Leonie was standing by him, his mother just behind her, both staring at him in concern.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Leonie said, hugging him gently.

Tom only nodded. He wanted to thank her, despite the horror of what had happened to him. But he couldn’t find the words.

It was a bit of a comfort to have someone like Leonie look at you, someone who had seen nearly all of the worst of what humans could do to each other and to themselves, but somehow hasn’t lost the warmth and genuine concern. It was so similar to what he often saw on Chris’s face. Tom couldn’t escape from the horrified look his mother and father had on their faces. Tom knew he was a sight. He'd seen himself in the bathroom mirror before his shower. Half of his face mottled in dark purple and red, his eye bloodshot and alien to him, ribs bruised and tender, limping just as he had when he and Chris had first started making love. But that had been from the most delicious ache.

This was a simple and devastating pain, a burn, a terrible reminder.

And Chris, well. Chris was all anger and love. Displaying both equally, or sometimes all at once, it was all in his eyes, tightening or soft, letting Tom know all of what he felt. Tom never tired of looking at his face.

And he needed him, feeling Chris’s absence from his side like a physical ache.

He cleared his throat, hoarse from where Shaw's fingers had curled cruelly around his neck, and from the tears he seemed to be constantly shedding.

"Where’s Chris?"

“He’s at the front entrance, picking up the clothes your dad brought for you,” Leonie said, turning to Diana at the last second.

“James brought our car for us to go home in. He and Craig will head back to the house in Craig’s car to have everything sorted with the cleaning company. They’re probably still there.” His mother rubbed a hand gently across his shoulders as she spoke.

And when Chris finally walked in moments later, he dropped the clothes at the end of the bed and enveloped Tom in a hug, careful with his injuries.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

Tom pulled back and looked into his eyes, telling himself that Chris was real, that he was there with him, that he was safe now.

They stared at each other, Chris bracketing his face with both hands, eyes flicking between Tom’s.

“I love you,” Chris whispered, softly, so that only Tom could hear.

Eyes swimming, Tom exhaled, “I love you, too.” And then he kissed Chris on the mouth, a quick close-lipped peck, before looking down, face burning.

Chris was staring down at him, reluctant to let him go.

“Darling, let’s get you changed,” his mother said, taking his clothes and setting them beside him. Leonie left with another warm hug, returning to her rounds, while his mother went to finish the paperwork to release him once he spoke with the police.

Chris helped him with his clothes, Tom clinging to his shoulders for balance as he lifted one leg and then the other. Once dressed in jeans, his drama shirt, and Chris’s letterman jacket, they waited on the bed, sitting side by side, hands linked between them.

“Your arm…how is it?” Tom asked, trailing his index finger over the hard cast.

Chris shrugged. “It’s okay. Mom just gave me something for the pain. She filled me out a prescription.”

“I just took mine, too. We’re going to be drowsy.” He sighed and looked down at the floor, their sneakered feet resting together. Tom inched his foot closer to Chris.

“Are you hungry, babe?”

“No.”

They sat quietly until there was a soft knock on the door.

Two men stepped into the room, along with Tom’s mother. One of the men was in plain street clothes, and the other wore a crisp blue uniform, hat tucked under his arm.

They introduced themselves as Detective Ryan and Officer Samuels. Pulling up two chairs, they sat across from where Tom and Chris were perched on the edge of the bed.

Tom shied away slightly, leaning into Chris for a second before taking a deep breath and sitting up a little straighter. Chris wrapped an arm around his waist, keeping their hands linked.

“Okay, Tom. This won’t take very long. I know you’ve both been released by the hospital and you folks are planning on heading home,” Detective Ryan said. “I’d like to start by saying I’m very sorry about everything you’ve been through. It’s my job to get all the facts together regarding what happened last night, so the detectives will have a thorough picture as they continue to investigate your case. Okay?”

Tom nodded, eyes down.

“Good. So go ahead and start with yesterday evening in your home.”

Both men held pens ready over their white notepads.

Tom blinked and swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Chris and then back to the floor. In a quiet voice, he explained how he and Chris had been texting while his parents cleaned up after dinner. When they’d gone upstairs, Tom had fallen asleep on the sofa, waking about an hour later. His parents explained that they were leaving for a last-minute dinner with his father’s boss. As they left, he was about to text Chris so he could come over.

Tom’s eyes flashed to his mother at this part. He licked his lips hurriedly and continued.

He had been about to text Chris when his phone died.

“I went upstairs to charge it and t-that’s when I saw Shaw coming in through the window. My bedroom window.”

“Did he say anything to you at this time?” the detective asked, pen flashing over the page.

“He said, ‘Hi Tom’.”

“Anything else?”

Eyes on his mother and then back to the floor. Chris tightened his hand around Tom’s.

“He said, ‘I’ve watched him do that hundreds of times over the last month. Thought I’d try it myself’.”

“Do you have any idea who Mr. Shaw might have been referring to?”

A whisper, “My boyfriend.”

Officer Samuels pointed his pen at Chris. “This your boyfriend?”

Chris gritted his jaw. _No shit._

Tom nodded. “Chris. His name is Chris.”

“You’ve given a statement already, Chris? Were you present during the incident?”

He nodded. “Yes. I gave it last night.”

Motioned to continue, Tom told of how he’d run down the stairs and slipped, colliding with the bannister.

Chris’s mind flashed to the ugly bruise on Tom’s ribs.

“I ran into the front door, trying to unlock it. He slammed into me from behind and, and said… ‘Don’t fucking run from me, you slut’.”

Chris exhaled shakily through his nose, fingers curling protectively over Tom’s waist.

“And what happened after that?” the detective asked gently.

 Tom sighed and touched the edge of the bandage on his head, almost subconsciously. “He grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the door. I—I started bleeding, but managed to e-elbow him. And I think I stomped on his foot. He let me go and I ran into the kitchen. To reach the phone. That’s when he grabbed me again, put a rag over my mouth. From behind.”

“Can you describe what was on the rag? Any particular odors?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. It was awful. Like some kind of…chemical. It burned when I breathed. And it made me dizzy. Like I might pass out.”

He turned to Chris, fidgeting.

“It’s okay, babe. You’re doing great,” he whispered.

“I…um. I kept trying to breathe. But I couldn’t. I almost passed out but then I could breathe again and he was…leaning over me, talking.”

“Saying what?”

Tom struggled to remember. It was all so murky in his mind. He could just recall lights and colors, the shape of Shaw above him, the hard feel of him.

“It was…he said—how lucky he was. Because my parents had left and Chris wasn’t with me. He said that he’d been watching the house for hours, like he did every night, and that he planned on going home to… _jerk off…_ to me.” Tom huffed quietly, face red, hand trembling in Chris’s grip. Tom felt his face break, fresh tears spilling from his eyes, heart pounding hard in his chest. “I tried to struggle, to get away, but he grabbed my neck and dragged me into the living room and threw me on the floor. And then he yanked my shorts off and told me that I am more beautiful when I’m afraid and then he punched me and then flipped me over and told me that Chris just _had_ to have had sex with me by now because how _couldn’t_ he and Chris certainly must have forced me the first time and that Chris had been so busy with me and he was rubbing himself against me the w-whole time and then he asked if I was tight and then he shoved his fingers inside me and pushed them in and out and in and out and in…”

He stopped, his vision blurred by tears, his breath heaving. He was shaking and Chris was right there and he needed to be closer to him, to feel that warmth, that solid strength.

Chris was already leaning into him, wrapping his arms around Tom, his cast a heavy weight against the curve of Tom’s shoulder.

The detective gave him a few moments to collect himself. Tom heard his mother sniff from across the room, somewhere behind them.

“Was there any other kind of penetration?”

Tom stiffened, still wiping his tears. “No. I mean. I don’t think so. It hurt so badly. But I don’t remember anything else. Just waking up here at the hospital.”

His eyes widened slightly, beginning to panic at the thought that maybe Shaw really _had,_ but he _couldn’t_ have…

“Is there anything else you remember from last night? Any other details that would be helpful to our investigation?”

“No, I—no, I think that’s it.” Tom held the back of his jacket sleeve to his cheek, sniffling quietly.

“Did you know Mr. Shaw before last night? Had you seen him before?”

Chris tightened his hand around Tom’s and they looked at each other. “Yes,” Tom said quietly. “He’s my math teacher. I’m in his Advanced Algebra class this year.”

Making a final note on the paper before him, the detective stood, followed by the officer, both pocketing their pens. Tom’s mother came around to Tom’s other side, hand on his shoulder. She handed Tom some tissues, which he took gratefully to dab at his eyes and nose.

“Thank you, Tom. We’ll notify you and your parents when a trial has been set. And if we have any more information or questions, we’ll let you know.” He turned to Chris. “We just spoke with Mr. Shaw’s lawyer. He’s informed us that Mr. Shaw has chosen not to press charges against you.”

Chris sat stunned. He saw Tom glance at him from the corner of his eyes.

“Did…did he say why?” Chris fully expected to be charged with every count of aggressive assault possible, figuring this would be Shaw’s perfect tactic to finally get Chris back.

The detective glanced at the police officer and then back at him. “No. From what I understand, Mr. Shaw is unable to speak very well at the moment.”

Chris blinked, not a single speck of remorse in his heart.

The detective left his card with Tom’s mother, asking her to call him if they had any questions. After they left, Chris breathed out slowly, not having realized until that moment how nervous he had been about whether or not Shaw would press charges. A swell of relief eased over his bones, wishing he could tell his parents.

But now wasn’t about him. What Tom had been through, was _still_ going through, was worse. With that nasty business of assault charges out of the way, Chris could focus only on Tom, and damn anyone who tried to interfere with him.

He still must have looked a little shell-shocked because Diana came over and hugged him tight.

“Easy now,” she whispered, squeezing him gently before letting go, touching his hair as all mothers do. “It’s just as I figured. That man has no right to sue you. No right.”

She held her arms out to both boys, gesturing with her head. “Come on then. You both look ready to keel over. I’ll make us food at the house.”

Diana led them to the door, ushering them out, an air of quiet purpose around her. Now that so much had been resolved, what with Tom’s statement to the police and the discovery of Shaw’s decision, she seemed determined to care exclusively for the two boys in her charge.

And especially Tom, Chris saw. And rightfully so. They each had a tight grip on him, Chris holding his hand and Diana holding Tom’s arm. She guided them to the elevator bank and down to the main lobby.  

“Wait,” she said, eyes narrowing on the gift shop.

They stopped, Chris noticing that Tom had his eyes half closed, the glare from the fluorescent lights gleaming on the scuffed floors. And ahead of them was the main exit, bright sunlight filtering in as the automatic doors opened and closed every few moments.

As Diana went into the store, Chris stepped in front of Tom, shielding him from the glare.

“Close your eyes, babe,” Chris whispered, cupping Tom’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

And Tom did, relieved, his blond lashes fluttering low. Chris took his weight, Tom’s face hidden against his neck, and they swayed there by the wall, two tall teenagers, beaten and bruised.

When Diana bustled out a minute later, she was ripping the sticky price tag off a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Here, darling,” she said, wiping them clean on her blouse.

Tom peeked out and then straightened, taking them in his hand. Putting them on, he looked at Chris, who saw his own reflection in the shiny black surface.

“I know they look like old people shades, but they were big and dark enough to protect you the best, darling,” his mother said, taking his arm again.

Tom said nothing, but followed them as they proceeded out the door. Tom still shielded his face as best he could, his steps faltering in the blazing light of late afternoon.

They found the car where James had parked it and piled in, Diana at the wheel.

The warm air and the blinding sky was starting to make Chris dizzy. He could only imagine how Tom was feeling. They both hadn’t eaten in over twelve hours, and were battling the drowsy effects of their pain medication.

Huddled in the backseat, Tom leaned his head on Chris’s shoulder, holding his jacket closed with his free hand. Chris struggled to stay awake, looking down to see that Tom was already asleep, the shades perched low on his nose.

Resting his head back, Chris gave in and closed his eyes.

He was roused awake by a car door slamming. They were outside Tom’s house. A white and blue van was parked along the curb, large black tubes running over the lawn and disappearing through the front door.

“Baby,” he whispered, as Tom’s mom opened the passenger door. Tom blinked and then sat up slowly, pushing the shades higher on his nose.

They followed her into the house, Tom inching closer and closer to Chris as they stepped over the threshold.

“Go on upstairs, loves,” she said over the loud ruckus of vacuum machines running in the living room. “I’ll bring you food to your room, okay?”

She valiantly tried to block their view of the main part of the house, but they had a good foot of height on her.

Chris and Tom just stood in the entryway, their eyes following the line of wires and tubes over the pale blue carpet, unable to avoid the small trail of black dots that led into the kitchen.

Tom whimpered quietly, taking a quiet step behind Chris, his lips flattening, eyes completely concealed by the dark shades.

Wrapping Tom under his arm, Chris started for the stairs, noting the dark black finger print powder that littered nearly every available surface of the bannister and white walls.

His room seemed to be the same as it always was, and Chris figured it was because James had cleaned it as best he could before the boys got home. It was dark in the room, both windows were shuttered and the shades drawn. He didn’t try to look out to see if the ladder was still there.

Tom sat on the edge of the bed and didn’t move. Chris closed the door behind him, snuffing out the grating sound of the power vacuum cleaners, and knelt to take off Tom’s shoes slowly. He inched Tom’s jacket off and placed it on the desk chair, eyes drifting to his face.

A single tear fell down his cheek from behind the sunglasses, and he hitched in a shaky breath, lips trembling.

“Baby, no. It’s okay,” Chris said, bending to him, embracing him softly.

Tom let out a broken sob, more tears streaming down his cheeks. Chris removed the shades and placed them on the desk. Tom’s lashes were soaked, his right eye flaming red, huge tears falling steadily.

“Cry, my love. Cry all you need to. Let it go, from in here,” he said, voice hoarse, tears bubbling in his own vision. He touched Tom’s chest, his cast feeling bulky and awkward between them.

“I love you. And I’m here with you, Tom. You’re safe now.” He shook his head, teardrops landing on Tom’s thighs. “I did a shit job protecting you before, Tom. I know that. And I’m so sorry. But I won’t fail you again—.”

Tom threw his arms around Chris’s neck, dragging him closer. He cried harder, something sounding like Chris’s name tearing from his throat.

They rocked together, weeping openly, both with their hearts as heavy as they’d ever been.

Kicking off his own shoes, Chris climbed onto the bed and lay on his side, his hand upturned toward Tom. Tom wiped his eyes, wincing at his bruises, and then echoed Chris’s movement, their bodies curling together immediately. Their lips brushed twice, their sweet, moist breaths mingling before Tom relaxed his neck and fell into an exhausted sleep, his wet cheek pressed to the soft cotton of Chris’s shirt, before Chris followed him into unconsciousness, his jaw set in bitter relief.

**

It was dark when he woke up again. Early evening, at least.

A tray was set on Tom’s desk, loaded with four sandwiches and small, capped containers of fruit. Two glasses of water sat beside the food, the spilled condensation now just dry splotches of white on the desk.

Tom was out cold, his hand curled around Chris’s lightning bolt necklace.

Disentangling himself as quietly as he could, Chris crawled off the bed and tiptoed to the door, peeking out into the hallway. The house was quiet. No more vacuums or strange sounds. A soft light seeped up the stairs and he headed toward it, ears straining.

He could hear voices downstairs, possibly coming from the kitchen or dining room. The scent of coffee percolating hit his nostrils.

Catching snippets of the conversation, Chris leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the dizziness in his head.

“They weren’t able to get it all out.” That was James.

“We’ll just have to get it ripped out, darling,” Diana answered, voice heavy with fatigue.

“Have you ever considered tile?” Chris recognized his father’s voice.

“Or even wooden floors,” his mother piped in. So she was out from the hospital, then.

“Yes. We’ll have to see which works best,” James sighed. “And we need to do it soon. I don’t want him walking in the living room and seeing the stain there. The small ones by the front door were easy enough to remove. And those on the kitchen floor, well. Same.”

They were quiet.

Diana piped in hurriedly. “Oh, Leonie, I completely forgot to tell you two. But the detective said that Mr. Shaw has declined to press charges on Chris!”

There was a general murmuring of relief, all seemingly conscious of the volume of their voices. “Thank goodness,” Chris’s mother said, no doubt clutching her small hand to her breast in solace.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask Chris if he can take Tom out of the house for a bit, while the new flooring gets done,” James said after a minute. “They’re on spring break for a week. I’d like to have this done soon.”

“Of course, it’s no problem with us,” Leonie said. Her firm ‘hospital’ voice was gone, replaced by gentle concern and sympathy. Chris imagined she was leaning over that very moment, placing her hand on James’ arm, speaking quietly. “The only thing I wonder is if Tom would be willing to go out so soon.”

“If they do,” Diana said, “it would have to be some place quiet. Some place they know well. That’s safe.”

“And they’re more than welcome to come to our house,” Craig said softly. “Tom doesn’t have to go out in public right now if he doesn’t want to. Which brings up the matter of school. Has anyone contacted you?”

“The superintendent was on the phone with me earlier today. Said he was approached by the police about the matter. They requested permission to search Mr. Shaw’s classroom. Guess they’re just waiting for a judge’s order to search his home. It’s all happened so recently, I can’t imagine it going any faster.” He sighed. “I’m leaving it up to Tom if he wants to finish the year.”

“It might be just what he needs,” Leonie said. “The structure, the familiarity of it all. Chris will be there with him. It’s only that the memory of Mr. Shaw will be strong there. It’s best to ask him.”

“Should we take Chris home with us tonight?” Craig asked.

No one spoke for a minute. And then James said, “I don’t think they’re exactly inclined to be separated.”

“I’d hate to be the one to do it,” Leonie murmured.

“A boy stopped by today,” James said, almost absentmindedly. “Jason. I’d never met him before—.”

“He’s a friend of Tom’s. Sweet boy. They were in the play together back in the fall,” Diana said.

“Oh yes, right. He came by asking for him. And for Chris. Noticed they were both gone from school. Said they weren’t answering their phones. I think Tom’s phone was taken in as evidence but…”

“Chris’s is still in his room. I heard it ringing earlier. It’s probably dead now.”

Chris felt a touch on his arm and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Spinning, he saw Tom standing in the dark hallway, nearly luminescent, like some kind of lovely, saddened ghost.

“Baby,” Chris whispered, straightening.

Tom said nothing. Just took his hand and pulled him back to his room. The voices faded away as they shut the door and headed to the bed again.

Chris was ravenous.

He took one of the sandwiches and practically swallowed it whole. Tom was staring at him, the tiniest smile on his face.

Chris took a bowl of fruit and uncapped the lid. He held out a slice of watermelon to Tom, who hesitated before taking it between his fingers. He took small bites of the fruit, watching as Chris ate three of the sandwiches. Tom nibbled on the last sandwich after finishing the fruit and then took big gulps of the water, his insides feeling like dry sandpaper.

Before they fell back under the covers, they removed their jeans and socks, fitting their warm limbs together in a familiar jigsaw puzzle. Bellies full, lips tasting of sugared fruit, they kissed once, Chris cradling Tom’s head, his other arm wrapping behind his back. Tom’s eyes fluttered closed, grateful for the safety Chris’s embrace gave him, crowded in, his solid weight feeling right and perfect and welcome.

**

Chris woke with a start, his senses buzzing to life. He held still, eyes still closed, Tom wrapped safely in his arms. There was someone in the room. He could feel them.

But upon hearing their whispered voices, Chris relaxed, heart hammering with adrenaline.

“They sleep so close together,” Diana whispered, somewhere by Tom’s door. “You’d think they’d been sleeping curled up like that for years.”

James hummed his agreement beside her, no doubt both looking at the pair of them in bed, Tom’s face pressed close to his neck, Chris blanketing him practically.

“Before I left the hospital,” James said quietly. “The doctor told me that it’s a good sign that he’s so physically attached to Chris right now. All the touching. It shows that perhaps, after all this, he might not be so hesitant to lead a normal life with people, their proximity to him. If it had been different. If he had rejected Chris or any of us from touching him or being close to him…that might have been a warning sign that there was deeper psychological trauma. Scarring, is what he called it. Mental scarring. I mean, it doesn’t negate the pain he’s feeling now. At all. But he’s seeking comfort. And that seems to be the best thing that could happen.”

Diana sniffed quietly and Chris thought that she might be crying.

“It’s no wonder Tom feels so safe with him,” James continued. “You know…when I was holding him back that night? From hitting that…that _fucking_ —.”

“James—.”

“I’m not sorry,” James said, his tone set just a little harder. “He hurt our son. Hurt our son’s boyfriend. Traumatized these young boys, it’s absurd—.” He stopped, and Chris strained to listen, his hold around Tom tightening.

“It’s just that,” James continued, quieter. “Holding him back from hitting Mr. Shaw…I mean, the kid has immense power in him. It’s an incredible strength. You should have felt it, Di. It’s unbelievable.”

Chris swallowed, feeling heat rise on his face at Tom’s parents talking about him like this.

“He loves him,” Diana said after a moment, and Chris wasn’t sure which of the two of them she was referring to. It didn’t matter though. It was true of both he and Tom, regardless.

They left the room after a long moment, closing the door behind them, and Chris relaxed against the mattress again, content with the thought of simply holding Tom through the rest of the night, ready to fight anything that tried approaching him.

That’s how they would take it. One night at a time.

It wasn’t until a full day after Tom gave his statement to the police, back home for a full twenty-four hours, that Chris noticed it.

It started with one-word answers, usually mumbled, progressing to giving only small shakes of his head, or nods. He smiled rarely, often lost somewhere in his mind, pulled so far deep that Chris needed to touch his face, or whisper close to his ear for Tom to realize that he was there. And when he would, there was no vocal response to Chris’s questions of whether or not he was alright, if he needed anything. Tom communicated through touch. Feeling for his hand, clutching Chris close while they slept, sitting beside Chris on the floor, both staring at the television, not watching.

They were in a silent agreement that Tom’s room was where they wanted to be. For now. Maybe they would try going downstairs together. Maybe they would venture to the backyard. But for now, Tom’s room was the safest they’d ever felt, despite it being the start of their terrible nightmare.

Yet, only a single day had passed, but Chris realized. Chris knew. And it broke his heart all over again.

He didn’t know if it had been because Tom had to give his statement to the police, reliving most of that night. Or maybe what happened was finally beginning to settle in.

Chris knew only one thing for certain.

Tom had stopped speaking.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all know, this and the next few chapters are a bit subdued. I took forever writing this one. Thank you for being so patient.  
> Beta'd by the fantastic and lovely duskyhuedladysatan. I <3 U.

Everyone had quietly agreed that the boys could sleep together at night. Tom, extremely relieved that Chris wouldn't have to use the ladder outside his window for the time being, wasn’t sure what he would do if he heard or saw the curtains moving on their own again just before Chris stepped in. He vaguely wondered if he needed to move his furniture around before he fell into another dazed sleep, hand wrapped loosely around Chris’s good wrist.

The medication they were taking for pain made them drowsy. Tom's mother started syncing their doses so they could sleep at the same time. It was a strange sort of cycle. Waking together, staring at each other, Chris's whispered greetings, Tom’s blinked responses.

Saturday came and went. Instead of spending the day at the beach with their friends, sunburned and windswept, Chris and Tom spent the day in Tom's room. Chris's father visited in the morning, Chris meeting him in the Hiddleston's living room while Tom slept upstairs. Chris’s eyes strayed to the still visible bloodstain in the middle of the room before he snapped his head away, hands fisting.

Inside the overnight bag his father brought him were a few pairs of clothes, some toiletries, his laptop, and finally his phone and charger.

Sitting on the sofa, Craig’s eyes skimmed over his son’s face. "How is he doing?"

"I don't know," Chris admitted softly, images of Tom's bruised face and quiet tears flooding his mind. He scratched his head absentmindedly. "Not good. He's different right now. Withdrawn. He hasn't said anything since before last night."

Craig nodded. "It’s important to give him time, Chris. He might want some space. It only just happened. He needs time to sort it out in his mind. Silence helps with that."

When Chris didn't say anything, Craig tilted his head, trying to catch Chris’s eye. "And how are you? Your arm?"

Chris knew how he looked. He’d seen himself in the mirror that morning. His eyes were sunken in, ringed by dark circles. His hair, still too short for a bun, was pushed back in thick strands that were starting to get greasy. He needed to shower. He needed to sleep more, but despite all that they slept, he still looked and felt tired as hell.

Glancing down at his cast, Chris shrugged. "I'm fine.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I'm not really sure...how to process all this. It's like a dream. Everything that happened. And the pills make the pain go away. Keep me in a fog. We sleep a lot."

"You can come home whenever you want, Chris. And yes, before you ask," his dad said, as Chris opened his mouth to interrupt. "Tom can come too. If it ever gets to be too much for you two...here."

“Thank you,” he whispered. And then, “Any word on Shaw?”

His dad settled back with a heavy sigh. “Your mother said he was taken in for emergency facial reconstructive surgery last night. Said that he wouldn’t be able to breathe properly otherwise, and if the bones healed as they were, he would have a painful nasal drip for the rest of his life. Reminded me of _The Godfather_.” His dad frowned. “It’s not even a tenth of what the stupid son of a bitch deserves.”

Chris said nothing, his blood pulsing a furious beat.

Before his dad left, Tom's parents, having each taken time off from work, invited him to eat lunch with them in the dining room. Chris heard their soft whispers as he went back upstairs.

Sitting up against the headboard, Tom asleep with his head tucked against Chris's hip, he checked his messages and voicemails, heart numb at hearing their friends asking where he and Tom were, if they were ready to leave. They were probably gone by that point, driving down to the coast, music blaring, laughing, the windows down and the salted breeze streaming over their smiling faces.

Chris couldn’t find it in himself to care, brushing his fingertips over Tom's forehead, a stubborn curl bouncing back in place. The only thing he regretted about not being on that trip was that Tom wouldn't experience it either. They had been so looking forward to it, Chris thought, angry tears flooding his eyes.

"I hope you die," Chris whispered into the room, all his hatred directed miles away from where he sat. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he wiped at them roughly, peering down at his phone again.

There were two messages from Jason, and his were shorter, more insistent, a quiet concern in his voice, asking why they weren't at school, if they were okay, if everything was alright. There was something in the deeper register of his voice that gave Chris the impression that Jason knew, or at least suspected, why they were suddenly absent.

He sent a short, vague text message to Jaime apologizing for not getting to him sooner, and that he and Tom wouldn't be able to make to the beach.

Checking to see that Tom was still asleep, he slipped down the stairs and out onto the front lawn, remembering how he'd thrown up on the grass just two nights before, emergency lights flashing across the coldly distant night sky.

He dialed Jason's number.

"Chris," Jason said by way of greeting just after a single ring. "What happened?"

And without preamble, Chris told him everything, starting with spinning the ball in his room, to Tom's cut-off text messages, to running, to flying through the door, to his broken wrist, to beating Shaw, to Tom being taken away without him, to vomiting on the grass, to giving his statement, the drive to the hospital, waking up hours later, cast on, Tom still gone.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason whispered, horror laced in the words. He sounded winded, like he was running around. “Where is he? I need to see him.”

“Upstairs, asleep. I came outside for a minute. Jason, he—he barely eats. He’s stopped talking—.” Chris cut off with a soft sob, slapping his hand over his mouth, vision blurring. “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright, Chris. I’m nearly—.”

“I tried. I did. How did he know? How could he tell he was alone? Please! I don’t understa—.”

And then a car was pulling up to the curb and Jason was jumping out, lowering his phone as he approached Chris.

Chris felt his desperation mounting and he sobbed again, letting his phone drop. He felt his legs give and then Jason’s arms were wrapped tight around him, catching him, lowering them to their knees.

“Fuck it,” Chris cried, face pressed to Jason’s shoulder. “I hate that motherfucker. I hate him! I hope he fucking dies in that hospital.”

Jason held him, hand soothing his back.

“Shh now,” he murmured. “This wasn’t your fault. Tom and I and everyone know how hard you worked to protect him, Chris. You both took so many precautions. You were so vigilant, so careful. You decided against doing so many things because of him. You can’t blame yourself. Don’t do that. This isn’t on you.”

Chris shook with small moans, his tears soaking Jason’s shirt. Jason clutched him tight, whispering that it was alright, that it was over now. He pulled back and forced Chris to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to fear him anymore. Okay? He’s been caught. He’s finished. He won’t hurt Tom anymore. He won’t hurt you. Or anyone else. It’s time to face this pain and conquer it. That’s what I did. I know you and Tom can do the same. You have each other to lean on. I know you won’t let each other fall from this.”

Chris wiped his face, trying to catch his breath. Jason was staring at him quietly, eyes kind and sad and knowing.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry. A lot. You feel helpless right now. I know you do. But please know that you’re not. Tom needs you. He needs you there with him, your warmth, your heart, your voice. And if he isn’t talking, it’s because he’s thinking. A mile a minute. I did the same thing. I didn’t speak for the longest time. Or at least not honestly, because no one knew what happened to me and I had to pretend to be fine. But I nearly went crazy with the things I thought about. The guilt I felt. The disgust. Don’t lose him to that, Chris. Don’t let him lose himself to that. Be there for him.”

Chris swallowed another sob, voice catching. “I will. I’ll always be there for him. Anything he needs me to do, I'll do it. He’s my entire heart, Jason.”

Jason pulled him into a hug again. “I know, Chris. I know he is.”

They stayed there kneeling in the grass until Chris felt more in control of himself. They stood shakily, Jason keeping a hand on his elbow.

“But Shaw didn’t…do it? Right?” Jason asked after a moment, lips tight.

Chris shook his head. “No. I mean, we haven’t received the rape kit back yet, but I saw. He was just starting to unbuckle his pants when I got there.” He gritted his jaw, angry again. “Not soon enough. He still had time to do…other things.”

Jason’s lips parted and his brows drew tight. He turned to look up at Tom’s shuttered window. He sighed.

“Can I come see him?” he asked quietly, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight.

Chris nodded, wiping the last of his tears from his cheeks. “Let me ask him.”

They turned and walked into the house, closing the door behind them.

Their parents were still in the dining room, so Chris motioned for Jason to follow him up the stairs. In the hall, Chris asked him to wait a moment. He stepped into the room and left the door slightly ajar.

Tom, wearing boxers and one of Chris’s old basketball shirts, was curled up around the pillow Chris used, asleep, breathing softly.

 _Like a baby bird_.

Chris sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over Tom’s torso, nuzzling his uninjured temple.

“Baby," he whispered softly. "Wake up, my love."

Tom moaned quietly, shifting on the bed. His brows puckered, but his eyes stayed closed.

“It’s me. It’s Chris.” He touched his hair softly, thumb grazing over bruised skin.

From a great distance, Tom heard Chris’s voice. But he’d felt his touch first, and somewhere in the recesses of his tired mind, he was comforted by the fact that he’d recognized the touch as belonging to Chris, and not someone else.

He blinked his eyes open, vision blurry at first, but his room slowly came into focus.

The first thing he saw was the curtained window.

He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling Chris above him. And then he turned his head and there was the face of his sun, sallow and thin, tired. Just like his, probably.

 _We look like vampires_ , he wanted to say.

Instead, he rolled onto his back, hands curling around Chris’s forearms.

Tom’s heart clenched suddenly and he blinked fast. He raised his hand and touched Chris's cheek rough with whiskers. Chris had been crying. His eyes were red and slightly puffy, still moist with recently shed tears.

Chris smiled, small. “There’s someone here to see you, babe.”

_No more police. Please. I can’t._

“It’s Jason,” Chris continued, already anticipating Tom not answering.

_Oh._

Tom’s eyes snapped to the ceiling, tears pooling quickly, and he felt his face break.

“Oh, baby,” Chris whispered, taking Tom’s head between his hands, the coarse plaster of his cast brushing Tom’s jaw. “It’s okay, puppy. You don’t have to see anyone if you don’t want to.” _Please_ , his face read, tight with worry. _Don't cry_.

Tom shook his head, giving small gasps. He didn’t know why he was crying. It just bubbled up to the surface, against his will, something he couldn't stop, a result of this hideous emotion that reared up and clawed at his heart. This terrible sadness. He couldn't be rid of it.

Jason _knew_. Every single feeling, every bit of regret and pain and humiliation. He knew. And he was okay, Tom reminded himself frantically. He was okay. He was okay now, even after what Shaw did to him too.

Tom moved to sit up and Chris leaned back to give him space. The room spun suddenly and Tom latched onto him, closing his eyes tight.

Very slowly, Chris helped him to sit, giving him some water to drink from the glass on his desk.

“He’s just outside. Did you want me to tell him to come back another day?”

 _No_ , he thought, shaking his head. _No, it’s okay._

Chris gazed at him in worry, waiting for an answer. “You want to see him?”

Tom nodded and Chris stood to let Jason in.

Holding his gaze on the floor, Tom felt the moment when Jason entered the room, felt his gaze on the side of his face, no doubt taking in his bandaged forehead, the bruises creeping down his cheekbone, the circle of red around his throat. And that was only what people could see. It hurt for him to sit for very long, every muscle below his neck felt sore and ached when he moved. His ribs were purple and hurt like tiny splinters of wood when he breathed.

And Chris’s fingermarks on his hips were fading so fast.

_Oh, he’s been busy._

“Tommy,” Jason whispered, walking slowly around the bed.

Tom lifted his gaze and saw Jason falter slightly at the sight of his reddened eye, grotesquely unnerving if it was as shocking to others as it still was to Tom. He wondered vaguely how long it would take for it to heal. His own blood had done that, he thought in amazement.

_Tom...are you tight?_

Tom grimaced and looked down at the carpet, willing the voice to leave his head.

Chris stepped forward quickly and sat beside him, circling his waist with his injured arm, taking Tom’s hand in his own.

Jason stood there, watching him, eyes turned down in sympathy. Or empathy, more like.

“I’m so sorry, Tommy,” he said, lowering himself to the floor in front of them, legs crossed, leaning in.

He didn’t try to touch him. Tom appreciated that. People immediately wanted to give hugs to stave off hurt feelings and to show that they understood, that they cared, to offer comfort. Usually, Tom would completely agree. He loved hugs.

But there was really only one person whose hugs he needed and felt comfortable with at the moment, he thought, peeking up at Chris.

Chris, who wouldn't leave him. He _couldn't_.

Tom’s pulse jumped erratically and he gasped quietly, a tiny inhale. He clenched Chris’s hand, the horror of the thought great enough to make him forget to breathe. Chris, unaware, pulled him closer, murmuring sweetly.

Tom knew that Chris knew. About his silence. He could see it in his eyes, the way they drooped down ever so slightly, in panic, in sadness, in acceptance of Tom’s need for it. It was unspoken between them that touching was not only important for Tom, but also for Chris, who used physical interaction to close the gap left by the quiet.

But it haunted him, the thought that Chris wouldn't want him anymore. That he wouldn't want someone so defiled and, and dirty.

That, and thoughts of Shaw. Remembering the cold feel of his hands, hard and cruel on him. The whispers that chased him in sleep. The pain and Tom's desperate breaths.

“Babe?”

Tom blinked. Both Jason and Chris were looking at him, waiting.

He turned to Chris, brows furrowed in question.

Chris, concerned that Tom’s lack of concentration was a sign that his concussion was still lingering, said softly, “Jason wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help.”

Tom leaned further into Chris and shrugged, looking away, face burning.

_Just be there. Don’t ask anything of me. And be there._

Jason sighed quietly and sat up on his knees.

“Tom, I know he hurt you. I know he touched you and tried to ruin what has got to be one of the most beautiful things about life, about being in a relationship with someone,” he said, eyes darting to Chris quickly. “But you must know that he can’t take that from you. No one can. It’s a feeling, right in here.” He touched his own chest. “A feeling that you will know and recognize, when you’re ready. You aren’t damaged. You aren’t ugly. Don’t think I don’t know you’re thinking that.”

Tom, horrified, hid his face in his hands and sobbed quietly. Chris tightened his grip on Tom’s waist, resting his forehead on his shoulder, a solid presence.

“You are loved,” Jason continued softly, inching closer. “In more ways than you can imagine. We are here for you. When you feel it getting darkest, up here or here,” he said, touching his temple and then his chest again. “Let us help you. We don’t want you to fall into that. He won’t hurt you again, Tom. Ever. ”

He watched as Tom sniffled and patted at his face, crying softly.

“You don’t have to say anything to anyone until you’re ready. But those thoughts? The ones I know plague you every second, even in your dreams? Don’t let them have power over you. Don’t give yourself to them. They aren't real. And they aren't true. Do something that makes you happy instead, to drive those thoughts out.”

Tom turned immediately and hugged Chris, who caught him and held him tight, surprised eyes snapping to Jason.

Jason smiled. “Yes! You can hug Chris. I know that makes you happy. Because you know that he loves you, right? It's so fucking obvious, I don't know how you can stand it sometimes.”

Tom nodded against Chris's shoulder, and gave a short almost reluctant laugh, quieting immediately and clutching him harder.

Tossing Jason a wide smile, amazed that Tom actually laughed, Chris soothed Tom's back slowly. "I do, babe," he said. "I love you more than anything. And we're going to get through this. We will. I'll be right here beside you."

He kissed Tom's hair, catching Jason's eyes.

 _Thank you_ , he mouthed and Jason nodded, closing his eyes slowly.

There was a knock on the door and they turned. It was Tom’s mother.

“Oh,” Diana said, stopping just inside the door, food on a tray. “I didn’t know you had a visitor, Tom.” She greeted Jason quietly, setting the food down on the desk.

“Would you like to stay to eat?"

"No, but thank you," Jason said, rising to his feet. "I need to get going. I kind of stole my mom's car to get here."

He clapped a hand to Chris's shoulder and then turned to Tom.

"Can I come by to see you again, Tommy?"

Tom looked up at him, and nodded.

"Good. I'll come back. Bring some movies. Gummy bears?"

Tom nodded again, and wiped at his eyes. Just as Jason was turning to leave, Tom reached and caught his hand, squeezing once before letting him go. Jason clenched his empty hand, and then winked at Tom, smiling.

Diana walked out with him and their voices faded down the hall, talking about the fall play.

Alone again, Chris and Tom turned to each other, eyes meeting slowly.

Chris smiled and kissed the back of Tom’s hand. He stood and brought the food tray to the bed. He sat in the middle of it, heart jumping happily when Tom followed him and sat cross-legged beside him. They slowly ate the macaroni and cheese Tom’s mom prepared for them, swallowing down their pain medication with a shared glass of water.

Before he got drowsy, Chris wanted to shower. He stared at Tom, who had his eyes cast down.

“I need to shower. Want to shower with me or…after?” Holding his breath, Chris waited, hoping for the former.

Tom’s hand inched across the coverlet and slipped into his palm gently.

That was all the answer Chris needed. 

He found Diana in the kitchen downstairs. After explaining about the shower, she helped him wrap a plastic bag around his cast, securing it with tape.

“Did you need help?” she asked quietly.

“No, we’ll be fine. Thank you. We just took our meds so I want to get him back into bed quickly.”

“Thank you, Chris,” she said, just as he was turning away. “For being here with him. For supporting him.”

“I couldn’t be anywhere else. He means the world to me. I just…I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here.”

"Did...had you really been climbing into Tom's room? Before?"

Chris had the good grace to blush. He looked down, scratching at the skin beneath his cast. "Yeah. I had been."

She nodded, giving a small smile. "I guess I always suspected. From when we checked on the two of you the first night. Like a couple that'd slept together for ages,” she mused, and then snapped her thumbs quickly, moving past Chris toward the hall. “I almost forgot. I dragged out from the garage the plastic shower chair we used for James’ mother when she was staying with us just before her passing. I would help her bathe.” She pulled it out from the closet beneath the stairs. “It’s similar to the one we used at the hospital. I cleaned it only a little while ago.”

She handed it to Chris, who inspected it, seeing how it worked.

He thanked her and headed back upstairs.

Tom wasn’t in his room when Chris walked back in. “Babe?”

He found him in the bathroom, lights harsh and bright, staring at himself in the mirror. The black shades his mother had bought for him were perched high on his nose. He’d pulled off the bandage from his forehead and was feeling around the angry gash with trembling fingers.

Chris set the folded chair against the wall and walked up behind Tom, who had lowered his hand slowly, eyes obscured behind the shades, but still Chris felt his gaze on him.

“How’s it looking?” Chris asked, peering at the wound. Tom said nothing, just leaned back against his chest, sighing quietly.

They stood like that for a minute, and then Chris kissed his cheek. “Be right back.” He went back into the room, retrieved the night-light Tom’s mother had connected to the wall, and then returned to the bathroom.

Tom had his shirt pulled up and was trying to angle his elbows to get it off completely. Chris hurried to help, plugging in the night-light after they were both naked. Shutting off the main light, Chris took off Tom’s shades, exposing his tired eyes, the red one almost unnoticeable in the dim lighting.

He set the plastic chair at one end of the shower stall, recalling with a small tug in his heart when he and Tom had stood crowded in the corner of the shower back at his house, still learning each other’s bodies, the water spraying over them gently.

“This is for if you need it, babe,” he whispered, Tom’s tall silhouette coming to stand beside him. “If you get tired and have to sit. But I will help you stand, too, if that’s what you prefer to do.”

By the time the water was warm enough, Tom had taken his hand and waited patiently for Chris to lead him in. He was blinking slowly, the medicine starting to take effect.

Chris removed his necklace before they stepped in, placing it on the sink countertop.

He started with washing Tom’s shoulders and belly, just as Diana had done at the hospital. Tom stood still, eyes closed, breathing shallowly through his nose as Chris’s hands roamed over him, the gush of water on his skin making him feel hyper sensitive. Chris was careful with his bruises, pulling him close rather tentatively, kissing his nose, bringing their bellies flush. He scratched at Tom’s neck, letting the suds gather and spill over his tender nape, flowing over his collarbones and to his chest.

Tom felt along Chris's waist, sliding his hands up his back, the crinkle of the plastic around his broken wrist punctuating the steam-filled air.

Next was Tom's hair. He bent his head back, gripping Chris as he kneaded shampoo into his curls, skimming lightly over the bump on his hairline.

Tom was swaying by the end of it, and Chris helped him sit on the plastic chair, breathless and dizzy.

Chris washed himself fast, also feeling his balance start to dip. He massaged shampoo into his scalp, carding his fingers through his hair, and scrubbed soap over his skin, rinsing quickly.

He glanced at Tom on the chair, leaning against the wall, skin pockmarked with beaded drops of water, his eyes hooded but sharp and steady on Chris, heavy with something Chris couldn’t identify.

Turning the water off, he wrapped Tom in a fluffy towel and did the same for himself. After drying their bodies well, Chris ripped the plastic off his arm, took his necklace and the nightlight and peeked out into the hall, seeing no one. He pulled Tom into the hall, hands clutched tight, and toward the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

They dressed in cotton shorts, Chris pulling his own from his overnight bag and Tom taking his pair from the dresser. They didn’t bother with shirts. It was only mid-day, but the room was dark and the night-light cast a soft glow over one side of the room, their own private cave, quiet and still.

Tom was falling asleep where he stood. Chris helped him lie down, taking the space right next to him. They kicked away the blankets and lay closely in a loose knot, lips brushing, never kissing fully. He felt Tom’s fingers twist in his necklace, body relaxing slowly.

And as Chris watched him fade into sleep, stroking the side of his neck softly, Jason’s words echoed loudly in his mind, sudden and urgent, about how Tom must be thinking badly of himself, that he was ugly and disgusting, how Jason assured him, as if he somehow knew Tom was doubting it, that Chris still loved him no matter what.

He swallowed, blood draining from his face. Is that what Tom was really thinking? That he wasn’t good enough for Chris anymore? That Chris would…leave him? Because of what Shaw did?

Panicked, Chris cupped Tom’s cheek, his other arm circling behind his back, hugging him tight.

“I couldn’t,” he whispered, and Tom’s eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused. “I could never leave you, you hear me?”

Tom blinked twice, understanding sharpening his gaze. He returned the embrace, whining low in his throat. Chris leaned in and kissed him, close-lipped, chaste, but like a gentle burn. He broke away, realizing, absurdly, that they forgot to replace Tom’s bandage.

“I love you, Tom. You are perfect to me. I couldn’t leave you. You’re mine. My beautiful, sweet, lovely puppy.”

Tom’s tears were slow, big drops that rolled down his cheeks and through the small patches of stubble growing over his jaw. “Okay?” Chris asked, head tilting, waiting for his answer.

Tom nodded, relief spreading over his features, and then kissed him again, once, cuddling closer than before.

They weren't going to be separated, Chris promised him in fierce whispers, as Tom wept openly and quietly, nodding, thanking him without words. He didn't want to sleep. He felt he didn't deserve the rest. But the medication's pull and Chris's arms around him lulled him eventually, tears still wet on his cheeks, head pounding with pain, heart pounding with grief.

**

As Chris came out of the bathroom the next morning, James pulled him aside.

"The carpet will be ripped out tomorrow," he whispered, glancing at Tom's closed door. "So that the tile can be installed. Do you think you can take Tom over to your house for the day? I don't want him to know about it until after."

Already thinking ahead, of ordering pizza and watching movies and maybe taking a walk, anything to distract Tom, Chris agreed. "Sure. Of course."

They spent Sunday in Tom’s room, much as they’d spent Saturday, napping between doses of their medication. Shortly after waking from one of their naps, they lay side by side, noses touching. Chris tip-toed a finger over Tom's jaw and down to his neck.

"One freckle, two freckles, three freckles, four. This one's mine," he said, taking the imaginary fifth freckle and gobbling it up.

A smile grew on Tom's face, and he giggled quietly, so small and lovely, it made Chris's heart skip a beat. But then Tom’s face turned bright red. He looked down, dropping his hand from Chris's grip, ashamed.

"No, no, no, baby. I love you," Chris said quickly, hugging Tom close. "I love you. I love you. Don't think on it."

Tom sighed, closing his eyes wearily. He was asleep again within minutes.

Chris lay facing the wall, Tom's long body plaint in his arms, and counted the dust motes floating in the single beam of weak sunlight streaming in through the window, his tears eventually blurring it all into one blinding ball of light.

**

Tom stood at the top of the staircase, dark shades over his sensitive eyes. In his hand, he carried a duffel bag with clothes, and Chris's basketball sweater in the other. It was not as cold outside, the days warming up steadily now at the start of spring. But the sweater was a great comfort to Tom, so he kept it close.

Coming to stand beside him, Chris took his hand.

"It's a few quick steps to the door, babe. And then we'll get into my car. And then drive straight to my house, okay? I have some movies recorded on my television, and my mom is going to order us pizza, and we can just stay inside...for as long as we need to."

Tom was looking up at him, dark shades reflecting Chris's face back to him. He nodded and then linked their hands before taking the first step and descending.

At the base of the stairs, Tom faltered, gaze drifting toward the kitchen entrance, to a rough struggle and burning chemicals in his lungs, a scream cut off.

Chris wrapped him under one arm and directed him to the front door, down the driveway and to his car parked at the curb. Tom sat slumped down in the seat, head resting back, reminding Chris of the time that he’d been bitten by the spider, their upcoming summer math final hanging over them, their fake relationship becoming more intense, neither knowing how little the other was pretending to care so much.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Chris’s mother had shuttered his bedroom windows beforehand, so there was a comfortable, cool darkness waiting for them when they walked in ten minutes later.

Hoping to rouse Tom’s interest, he put on a movie, setting the volume on low. They sat on the floor, nibbling on slices of pizza, Tom picking off his pepperoni and stealing the mushrooms from Chris’s portion. It made Chris’s heart dance because this was the first time Tom willingly ate his food without first being prompted by Chris.

“How are your eyes feeling, babe?” he asked, remembering what the doctor said about the sensitivity to light, how it should start fading soon.

Tom shrugged. He’d removed his sunglasses as soon as they entered Chris’s room, but he still squinted and held a hand to his brows, as if to ward off unwanted glints of light.

“Still sensitive?"

Nod.

“But your balance is better I’ve noticed,” Chris added, picking up the empty pizza box and cans of soda.

Sitting down beside him again, Chris held out the small white pain pill, putting his own on his tongue. They drank them down and flicked off the television.

They were sleeping within twenty minutes.

**

It took two days for the tile to be installed.

The boys slept just as easily in Chris's bed as they had in Tom's. Better even, Chris thought. In all their time sleeping over the past few days, Chris sometimes woke to panicked whispers from Tom, who would be sitting up straight, eyes half-closed, still asleep.

“No,” he murmured. “No, please.”

Chris would shoot up beside him, hand circling Tom’s elbow. “It’s me, baby. It’s me, Chris. It’s not real. He’s not here. Come back to me, babe. Come back.”

Tom would eventually quiet down, whimpering against his neck, letting Chris lay him back down again. He clung to Chris harder after nightmares like that, fist curled tight around his necklace, arm hooked sharp behind his back. And Chris held him back in equal measure, murmuring sweetly to him, feeling the tension leave his boyfriend’s slender limbs, gaining a sense of safety from just his voice, even through the fog of sleep.

By the end of the two days, Tom was reluctant to leave Chris’s room. He felt protected there, with less frightening memories. Chris’s dresser was positioned in front of the window that Shaw had entered through back at his house, so when Tom woke in the dark, the glow of the night-light illuminating the photonegative of his room back home, the window was obscured and secure, Chris’s sports posters contrasting starkly with the white of Tom’s bedroom walls. And there would be Chris beside him, sometimes still asleep, sometimes not.

He would always be touching Tom in some way, an arm over his waist, a hand curled around the back of his neck, their legs twined or feet stacked one over the other. And if Tom happened to wake while Chris slept on, he would look around and see the room it didn’t happen in, the room that wasn’t snuck into, breached and tainted. He would see the room he and Chris had first made love in, the room where he was made to feel the safest and most comfortable, Chris’s mark everywhere. The basketball in the corner, the sports bags peeking out from under the bed, socks and practice jerseys falling out of the bin in the closet. Chris’s varied DVD and video game collection was lovingly organized by title on a plastic shelf beside his television, just as Tom’s books and CD’s were in his own room.

Chris’s scent was everywhere. Tom, lying back down, catching his breath quietly, would press his face to his boyfriend’s pillow and inhale, lacing their fingers together and closing his eyes finally, willing himself to sleep and not dream, to actually rest and not flounder exhaustingly in the quagmire that was his unconsciousness. He hardly woke in a panic at all during their time at Chris’s house.

But they eventually went back to Tom’s room, Chris filling his overnight bag with new boxers and other clothes to last a few more days. They went straight up the stairs, never giving the new tile floor in the living room a second glance, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Tom’s nightly murmurs of distress started up again and Chris felt helpless, unsure what he could do to make them stop. Those were the only times Tom spoke, when he had no control over it.

Jason texted Chris everyday to ask how Tom was, if he’d started speaking yet. Chris’s answers were always the same. _Not good…no._

They agreed on trying to get Tom out of his room and into other parts of the house. The blood stain was long gone from the living room, the new tile clean and gleaming. It came out quite nicely, Chris thought, even if it discouraged lying on bellies to watch TV, as he and Tom were wont to do. But it was important that the stain be removed, no matter the cost.

By the middle of the week of their spring break, Chris convinced Tom to venture downstairs, saying that Jason was coming over to watch a movie, and they could watch on the big screen in the living room.

He did it as casually as he could, picking up the scraps of their meal and putting everything back on the tray Diana brought it all in on. He watched Tom in the mirror, saw him hesitate and sit still on the edge of the bed, thinking over what Chris had said.

“Okay,” he said, so quietly that Chris almost missed it. He dropped the fork he’d been holding, cringing internally at the loud clatter it made on the plate, but recovered quickly, nodding his head and straightening.

He smiled at Tom, and held out his hand. “Great. He’s on his way. Wanna head down?”

Hands linked, they made their way downstairs and headed toward the center of the house for the first time in almost a week. Bypassing the kitchen, they neared the entrance to the living room and Tom hesitated, pulling to a stop.

The tile was a soft cream color, smooth and unobtrusively shiny. Tom had a sudden thought of racing across the span of the living room in socks, laughing loudly with Chris, who slipped and slid right along with him.

 _Like Tom Cruise in_ Risky Business.

He almost smiled at the thought.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, Chris following him closely. Rather than walk in toward the middle, like he usually would, he kept close to the outer wall, circling behind the large sofa and toward the love seat.

He sat down stiffly, his bottom not nearly as sore as a few days before, but he was still careful of the stretch certain movements caused.

When Jason arrived, he touched Tom’s shoulder gently and then handed him a box of gummy bears. Tom smiled and nodded his thanks.

“I brought _Aladdin_ , because the genie is the best Disney character, and I refuse to hear any arguments to the contrary.”

Tom settled back against the cushions and opened the box of candy, taking one and chewing it slowly. He watched Jason start the movie, adjusting the volume on the remote, skipping over the previews. Chris was in the kitchen making popcorn.

He still hadn’t gone into the kitchen since it happened. He didn’t feel like trying now, so he brought his legs up and simply waited, refusing to look down at the tile, so strangely cold on his feet, a new sensation.

Chris was pouring the popcorn into a bowl from its steaming bag when Jason walked into the kitchen.

“He’s fine,” he said, reading Chris’s face. He kept his voice low. “Sitting on the couch, eating the gummies I brought him.”

“He said ‘okay’ today,” Chris said, smiling, bouncing the bowl to settle the popcorn into an even heap. He still felt the happiness of that moment like a glow in his chest.

Jason returned his smile, eyes widening. “That’s great!” he whispered, coming around the counter and opening the cans of soda Chris had set aside. “It’ll happen slowly. But he’ll come back to us.”

The movie was one they had all seen, but it didn’t diminish how funny the plot was, with the genie’s antics and Aladdin’s hopeless love for Jasmine landing him in serious hot water with Jafar.

Jason had his soda and popcorn on the other couch, laughing quietly, eyes glued to the screen, while Chris and Tom shared a bowl of their own on the smaller love seat. Tom rested with his back against Chris’s chest, his fingers dipping into the popcorn every once in a while, sipping from Chris’s can of soda.

Chris hardly saw the movie, but kept his gaze on Tom before him, his profile, his straight nose and the sharp line of his jaw. Every time he blinked, Chris watched his lashes move, remembering how they’d felt on his neck as the doctor questioned Tom at the hospital.

He could feel the tiny rumblings against his chest as Tom laughed quietly when Genie turned himself into a bumblebee and buzzed around Aladdin’s face while he talked to Jasmine on her balcony.

Chris slid his hand over Tom’s waist and let it rest on his flat tummy, wanting to feel the muscles jump should he laugh again. Tom responded by placing his hand over Chris’s, squeezing his fingers gently.

Tom’s warmth, his body lying over Chris’s front, fingers like butterfly kisses on his skin, made a small tendril of arousal curl low in Chris’s belly. He swallowed it down with a hard gulp of his soda, staunching his desire to roll his hips forward against Tom’s back. He hugged him close instead and placed a kiss on the back of his head. Tom snuggled into him, hand on Chris’s thigh.

Jason left after the movie, promising more gummy bears and another movie in a couple of days.

They walked him to the door and Jason turned to Tom with a wink. “Your choice next time. Anything you want, we’ll watch, ‘kay?”

Tom, standing behind Chris, smiled shyly at Jason over his shoulder and rested his head on the hard curve of it, hand circling Chris’s arm just above his cast.

That night after their shower and evening dose of medication, they lay on their backs in their underwear, the ceiling fan whirring above them. Chris turned and curled up on his side next to Tom, lips humming at his neck some soft tune from a song they both knew.

Tom, eyes closed, felt a lazy smile grow on his lips. He started humming with him, lifting his hand and cradling Chris’s head, scratching at his scalp like he knew he liked. Chris purred and nuzzled closer.

“Christopher,” Tom whispered.

Chris snapped his head up, hand curling over Tom’s waist. “Yes, love?”

Tom’s eyes drifted closed, his smile fading as he succumbed to the pull of the medicine.

Chris studied him. The bruises on Tom’ face were starting to lose their purple tint. Green and yellow edged the dark marks, but they were still an angry red on his pale skin. The gash was shrinking, but still not enough. It would probably scar, a pale crag near his hairline. How much he missed Tom’s voice hit him hard at that moment. Two words that day and Chris was desperate another whisper, just one.

Leaning up, he kissed Tom’s temple and then slid from the bed to the floor. Before he started to feel the medicine’s pull, he powered on his laptop and opened up a web browser. He searched how to help a person who had been traumatized, and sifted through the results.

Nearly all the sites emphasized that it was important to listen, that if the traumatized person needed to talk, to let them. Helping them to relax and have fun and laugh was a good way to reduce stress levels, and that it was okay to make jokes but to be sensitive about the content of those jokes. Social events were good to attend, as long as they were low-key; feeling included by others was important, but it was equally important to give them their space when they needed it. Physical activity was encouraged, as it burned off excessive chemicals and induced a more calm sleep.

General advice included making time with the person, and letting them have time to themselves, if needed. So far, Tom wanted Chris with him, so he would do whatever he could to make him comfortable. The few times they were apart it was because they’d been forced, or because of normal circumstances. But they’d always found each other again, as soon as they could. It also suggested helping the person return to their normal routine. School would help with that, but Chris wasn’t sure if Tom wanted to go back to that place where Shaw’s presence was so strong.

Things the sites said to avoid were judging the person for what they felt. They discouraged telling the person how to feel or think or behave, and to avoid insisting they need professional help. Some people would, some people wouldn’t. To be patient and don’t expect them to recover in a certain period of time. Each person was different.

The most crucial pointer was to not avoid talking about the event.

Chris blinked, his vision swimming with fatigue.

The Event.

He didn’t know how Tom would feel about that. His silence spoke volumes in any sense, and he only recently started speaking again, albeit it only a couple words. And they had been only with Chris. Maybe if Tom started opening up to him, speaking with him more, they could discuss going back to school, if he felt he would like to speak with a counselor, and…the event.

Chris squinted against the glare of the screen, his eyes closing fast, a wave of exhaustion rolling over him. He relaxed his head back on the floor, setting his laptop beside him. He would only rest for a moment and then continue with his research.

When he woke again, the only light in the room was from the nightlight on the far wall. His laptop was off and Tom was stretched out beside him on the floor, leg tucked between Chris’s knees, arm wrapped tight around his waist, breathing softly at his neck.

Chris held still, tense, wondering if he should move them, not wanting to startle Tom. But then Tom shuddered and held Chris harder, fingers curling around his bicep.

He mumbled Chris’s name and then relaxed against him again.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Chris whispered. “I’ve got you. No one will hurt you again. I promise.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3

Friday night Chris lay awake, stroking Tom’s forehead. He knew he was only moments from waking, as he had already twice before. His lashes were fluttering, his brows drawing together in quiet panic. Sometimes he was able to get Tom to ease back into a more restful sleep by whispering to him, caressing his ribs, or nuzzling his temple. But other times, like now, Tom was in it too deep.

Tom jerked suddenly, a whine caught sharp in his throat. His hands flattened on Chris’s belly and then he pushed, hard. Chris grunted and let himself be moved, rolling to his back easily.

Tom pushed at him again and then sat up in a hurry, a small cry on his lips. His hands were raised up, ready to ward off something only he could see.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Chris whispered as he rose quickly, arms wrapping slowly around Tom’s shoulders, watching out for another swing.

“Chris, Chris…please…where…,” Tom murmured, eyes still closed.

Hesitating the slightest moment at hearing Tom’s voice again, saying his name no less, Chris inched closer. “Yes, baby, it’s me. I’m here with you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

It wasn’t until after a few more minutes of gentle coaxing that Tom let himself be laid down again, clutching Chris’s wrist as if afraid he would float away from him.

Blinking his eyes open, Tom slowly awakened, staring up at the ceiling, the night-light's glow showing Chris the slow rise of tears.

“Babe,” Chris whispered.

Tom turned to him.

“Do you prefer to sleep in my room?”

Tom nodded fast, rolling over and embracing Chris quickly. Chris, his own eyes blurry and swollen from denying himself sleep, held him and rocked him and dared the shadows to creep any closer to the boy in his arms.

**

“Well, but for how long?”

“I don’t like the idea of him being somewhere else. I mean, while the floor was being replaced, yes—.”

“School is starting soon. Will this go for longer than that?”

“We don’t want to inconvenience your parents—.”

“He’s still so...fragile—.”

Chris stood before Tom's parents in the kitchen, their words falling on him almost deafly. His head ached, his eyes ached, his throat ached. He felt he was coming down with something, but he hoped it was only his fatigue. He couldn't sleep at night. Not when Tom woke up multiple times afraid, calling for him. He needed to be there for him.

"This is what he wants."

"He said that to you?"

They, also aware of Tom's extended silence, held on to any indication that he had started talking again. That Tom had already spoken a few words was something they did not know, and it wasn't something Chris was sure he wanted to disclose just yet. Tom should be the one to let people know he was talking again by doing just that with them.

Diana glanced over Chris's shoulder, her eyes softening. "Love, how are you feeling today?"

Chris turned to see Tom standing just outside the kitchen, hands tucked into his jean pockets. He shrugged and looked down at his shoes, eyes glancing over the line separating hall from kitchen floor.

"Tom, are you sure you want to spend some time away from the house?" James stepped forward, frowning. But Chris knew that even he had to realize how strange his question sounded. It was obvious, wasn't it? Of course Tom would want to be anywhere but where it had happened. He knew their concern stemmed from their hesitancy to let Tom out of their sight. He certainly empathized with that. But this was about Tom's comfort. And it wasn't like he would be staying somewhere unfamiliar. Chris's room was like a second home to Tom.

Chris clenched his jaw, reminding himself to be patient. He was so damn sleepy and this felt like an unnecessary conversation.

Tom nodded again and inched a toe toward the kitchen. Realizing his reluctance, Chris crossed over to him and took his hand. Tom closed his eyes in gratitude, squeezing his fingers.

Diana crossed over too, touching Tom's shoulder. "Darling, won't you talk with us? Please? You know you can tell us anything."

Tom was already shrinking back; not from her, but from the request to talk. He circled his mother's wrist with his hand and shook his head softly.

"Maybe it's best if we don't force him to talk just yet, Di," James said, coming up beside her. He looked at Tom and his eyes went soft. "If you want to spend a few days with Chris at his house, that's fine with us. We'll be waiting here for when you're ready to come back."

Chris looked at James with newfound appreciation. Maybe he'd also spent a good part of his night looking up traumatic experiences online. Not that Chris could count himself an expert. He felt like he didn’t know much of anything anymore.

Tom hugged first his father and then his mother, clinging to each at the end. His eyes were full when he turned back to Chris, falling into his arms last.

“Thank you,” Chris whispered, before he and Tom went upstairs to pack.

**

Tom sat on the edge of the bed as Chris walked about his room, gathering clothes and boxers and socks, folding them neatly and stuffing them into Tom’s overnight bag. He spoke to Tom throughout, rambling on about how he thought this would be good for the both of them; that he felt being away from Tom’s house was taking a step in the right direction. But only for a little bit. He understood that.

Tom watched him, following the long steps Chris took to cross from one side of the room to the other.

But it was his eyes that caught Tom’s attention the most. They were bruised and hollow and slightly swollen. The lashes were clumped together from how often Christopher rubbed at them and they were somewhat distant, fatigued.

It was obvious to him that Chris wasn’t sleeping. Not even with their pain medication, which always knocked Tom out cold. But his mother had been giving them fewer doses, as their pain was lessening with each day. Their physical pain anyway. He didn't know if Chris was refusing himself sleep, and for what purpose, or if he simply couldn't. Unlike Tom, who fell into his dreams so easily. It was the waking that bothered him.

Chris took the stack of four books that Tom had set aside after silently scrutinizing his bookshelf. He'd already read the novel that Chris bought for him as a Christmas gift, but he would take it anyway.

Something dropped to the floor.

Chris paused and Tom turned to look. It was Tom's strawberry lip gloss, nearly empty after three months of secret uses. Chris picked it up and walked over to Tom, depositing the books into the backpack next to the duffel bag of clothes. He sat.

"We need to get you a new one, huh?" Chris said quietly, smiling. He held the gloss out. Tom stared at it a moment before taking it and examining the remaining liquid inside. He touched his lips softly, remembering how smooth the gloss felt on his skin, the way the flavor passed between him and Chris, mouths crashing together. He'd worn it only days before...everything happened. The last time he and Chris had made love, to be precise. He remembered slipping it out of his pocket and smiling shyly at Chris as he uncapped the tube, only able to smooth the tip across his bottom lip before Chris had groaned suddenly and grabbed him up in a rough kiss, the gloss fallen away, forgotten.

Swallowing, he slipped his hand into Chris's, closing his eyes tight.

"Do you want to...put some on, babe?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't...I don't know," he admitted. His voice felt so hoarse, deeper somehow. He felt Chris shift closer, his arm wrapping around Tom's waist.

"You don't have to be afraid to want to do things like this, babe. If it interests you, explore it. Nothing about you has changed. He took _nothing_."

_I know, my darling. But it feels like he did._

"I love you,” Chris said quietly. “You're still the most beautiful boy I know." He nudged Tom's shoulder with his forehead and then moved to stand.

Tom snatched his arm fast. "Don't...please," he whispered.

"I won't," Chris said quickly, settling close again. "Anything you want, I'll do." His brows came together in worry, eyes widening in sincerity. 

The tube of gloss felt warm in his hand, and Tom had a sudden yearning to put it on. It always made him feel good when he wore it, only for Chris. In private. How was this any different? Shaw wasn't there. He had no claim on any part of Tom's life. As much as Tom still felt... _tainted_ by what happened, he felt wholly and spiritually Chris's. He belonged only to Chris. And the gloss was so much a part of them, of their discovery of each other, their desire and right to feel free, and for Tom to feel…beautiful.

He uncapped the gloss and brought it to his lips, smearing a thin layer slowly. Chris's eyes followed his movement, his hands coming together on his lap, as if restraining himself from touching Tom like he usually would, like he really wanted to.

Rubbing his lips together, Tom closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of sugared strawberry, flashes swimming to the surface of his mind of all their times rolling around one or the other's bed, the gloss shared between them.

Catching Christopher's eye, he offered him a small smile. Chris gave a tiny groan and started to lean forward before he stopped himself, eyes dropping.

Not liking that one bit, Tom pressed forward and took Chris's chin, bringing their lips together, both moaning quietly. The kiss deepened and Chris wound his arms around Tom's waist, pulling him closer, chest to chest.

Chris drew back and leaned their foreheads together. Both were breathing hard.

"Was that...okay? Babe, was that okay?" Chris asked, eyes darting between his.

Swallowing hard, eyes on the flushed lips before him, Tom nodded.

They hugged, arms tight around each other, and then Chris stood, trailing a finger along Tom's jaw. He finished collecting Tom's things, packing them away neatly, tucking the lip gloss into the outer pocket of the duffel bag last.

**

It was to a quiet home that Tom and Chris entered an hour later. Chris's parents worked during the day, sometimes at night if his mother had late rounds, and so they would have the house to themselves, to be in in all their silence.

Tom looked at Chris as he locked the front door and led him up the stairs. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, and frankly, so was Tom. Waking multiple times a night was costing him his own rest. They both seemed years older.

They packed Tom's clothes away in a drawer that Chris emptied for him, putting his toiletries on the bathroom counter next to where Chris kept his own things. They took a slow shower, both swaying, letting the water cleanse them. Tom no longer needed a bandage over his cut, but it was still stitched closed and red rimmed. Chris skimmed his thumb over the receding bump, eyes narrowed, as they always seemed to be nowadays. He checked the progress of every bruise, every sore spot. His jaw, where Shaw's blow had landed so heavily; his ribs, where he'd fallen against the bannister; his neck, still showing the thinnest band of purple; his eye, which had slowly lessened from a startling red to a less cruel pink, still hideous enough that Tom avoided looking at it directly in the mirror.

They washed each other's hair, Tom re-familiarizing himself with Christopher's long, silky blond strands, letting Chris maneuver his head back, his wide hands scrubbing gently at his scalp, soaking his curls with suds.

And they kissed, deeply, like they used to, as they had in Tom's room only a short while before. Tongues reached out tentatively, and upon touching, made them moan again, resting against the shower walls.

"Should we shave?" Chris asked as they stood wrapped in fluffy towels, smiling at their reflections. "We look like survivors of the apocalypse." Chris, whose stubble always grew in a little thicker than Tom’s, scratched at his chin and winked at him. Tom touched the whiskers on his own face and smiled, nodding.

They spread foamy cream over their jaws and cheeks and shared a single razor, holding it under the stream of water before passing it back and forth. Angling his head close, Chris caught the tiny patches Tom missed, kissing away the excess foam and then pulling back to display his new white mustache. Tom giggled quietly and wiped their faces with a towel before they dabbed soothing lotion on their skin.

When they finally tumbled into bed, boxer-clad and moist-haired, Chris resolutely kept his eyes open, caressing Tom's back, hoping to ease him into an easy sleep.

Tom cupped Chris's cheek, grazing his upper lip with a thumb. "You sleep with me, Christopher. Close your eyes with me."

Chris shrugged, cuddling him closer. "I'm alright, babe. I'll stay up a bit."

"I'm not asking."

Chris looked down at him, hearing the low register of Tom's voice that meant he was serious.

"Okay, babe," he whispered and relaxed into the mattress, folding Tom under his arm and wrapping the other over his waist.

With eyes closed only seconds after, they fell into an immediate sleep, deep and dark, clutching at each other loosely.

The sun lapsed deeper into the horizon, finally casting the entire room in a muted darkness, shadows growing long in the evening. They did not wake, not even when Chris's father poked his head into the room just before dinner, whispered to see if they were alright, if they needed anything. They slept as the moon hung itself high in the sky, clouds gathering like a shroud over the swooning stars. They slept as a soft rain started around dawn, pattering against the window blocked by Chris's dresser. They slept well into the next morning, whose misty grey light saw the boys folded into a cocoon of thin breaths and twined limbs. If Tom turned to one side, Chris was close to follow, never waking, always seeking. If Chris rolled onto his back, Tom burrowed into his chest, throwing his leg between Chris’s as he was wont to do; if one tossed the blankets off, the other brought them back, finally settling in a midway agreement of blankets on legs and torsos bare, however unconsciously done.

After nearly sixteen hours of sleep, Tom began to stir. His first sight was of Chris’s Michael Jordan poster, thumb-tacked next to a same-size print of a beach sunset, the tiny figure of a surfer on the waves visible in the distance. The light coming in through a crack in the curtains was only slightly bothersome to his vision, but he still squinted and lifted a hand to guard his eyes.

He could feel Christopher’s shallow breaths at the nape of his neck, where his face was buried, like the sweet and shy head of a baby sparrow. Their hands were held together, tucked tight against Tom’s belly. At his back, he could feel the hard press of Chris’s plaster cast. But when Tom turned his eyes to the pillow at his head, he saw Chris’s right arm extended above him, plaster cast in plain view.

Chris shifted, moaning quietly at his neck, his erection pushing more solidly against Tom. His hand drifted to Tom’s hip, tightening, pulling Tom back as he rolled his hips forward.

Tom closed his eyes, and breathed in and out for a few moments, realizing his own belly was tightening with arousal, even through the flutter of panic in his chest.

“Chris.”

Chris moaned and pushed against him again.

“Christopher, darling.”

“Tom,” Chris breathed, lips kissing a tender line down his neck. And then his entire body stiffened, the buzz of alertness lighting between them.

It was an eternal moment that he lay in a rounded curve behind Tom, both holding their breath, before he snatched his hands away and rolled to the side.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby. Please, I’m sorry, I—oh, god.” He covered his face with his hands and sat at the edge of the bed, his erection plainly evident.

Tom held still, the slow burn of want still unfurling in his abdomen, heart pounding in his throat. When he sat up beside Chris, legs tucked beneath him, Chris backed away an inch, unable to make eye contact.

In a small way, it was almost as if Tom were the one being rejected, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry about that.

“Chris.” His voice was still rusty from lack of use, so he cleared his throat quietly. “Christopher. Please look at me.”

When Chris did, his eyes were tight with worry, with fear that he’d done something wrong, after all this time of trying so hard to be faultless, to be everything that Tom needed, despite what he was feeling himself, the urges and the needs that both he and Tom had been assuaging quite diligently before…well, before.

“I am not afraid of you,” Tom said quietly, scooting closer and touching Christopher’s hand. “I’ve never been afraid of you. Nor will I ever be. I love you.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Chris whispered, eyes frantic again. “I was dreaming of you and—.”

“You don’t have to explain. You must know that I…I miss you too. Very much, my love.”

The tension in Chris’s shoulders relaxed slowly, his face softening in relief. He wrapped Tom in a tight hug and kissed his hair.

“I have you. And I miss you. It’s the strangest thing,” Chris murmured.

“All of this is. I don’t like it,” Tom whispered. “But thank you for understanding, Christopher.”

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Chris said, tilting Tom’s chin up. “We’ll wait for as long as you need. Alright?”

Tom nodded.

“Good.” He kissed Tom’s forehead and then stood. “I need to piss. Be right back.”

Tom watched him go, eyes on the tented front of Chris’s boxers.

When he returned, Tom had changed into one of Chris’s basketball shirts he’d found hanging in the closet and some old gym shorts from his duffel bag. The rain had evaporated into a high hanging mist, the sun burning through any remaining clouds. Everything had a shimmery glow to it; car windows, the leaves on the trees, the sky almost too bright to handle. Tom took out the shades they’d packed and put them on, his eyes still slightly sensitive.

Chris was peering out the window when Tom slipped into the bathroom.

With the lights over the vanity blocked by his sunglasses, he emptied his bladder first and then brushed his teeth. He studied his face in the mirror. Better. A little better every day. Lifting the shades for a second, he checked his eye out; it wasn’t nearly as alarming as in the beginning, and while he still had a glaring gash on his hairline, the bandage wasn’t necessary anymore.

He set his rinsed toothbrush in its holder, adjacent to Christopher’s light blue one.

With his parents already at work, they went downstairs for breakfast. Tom’s heart immediately eased when taking in the different color schemes and furniture arrangements in the Hemsworth’s home, his memories of the house much different from his own. The entire first floor was hard wood; Tom watched their blunt reflections move over the surface worn in some places, scuffed in others. It was a beautiful floor, well-taken care of, buffed and smooth. A lot of the decorations were darker in tone, unlike the more neutral pastels of his mother’s choosing. And the kitchen was all white with stainless steel appliances, whereas his own had the coordinated colors of blue and yellow.

Chris sat him at the dining room table and started bringing out things from the refrigerator to make breakfast. As he started scrambling eggs and setting the sausages to a slow cook, Tom took out the orange juice and poured some into two glasses. He set out the silverware and napkins, and then sat again, waiting. It was the type of quiet domestic environment that he slowly began to crave with Christopher, and it set him to breathing calmly again.

His eyes drifted out the bay window to the backyard, to the pool and its silver glassy surface, to the pockmarked shell walkway lining the edge. The grass was sprouting in gentle tuffs of bright green. It would eventually even out, and lose the brittle yellow remnants of winter. Leonie's small garden of rose bushes and hydrangeas and sweet swaying daisy buds was still in the early stages of reawakening. The bare brown branches were only beginning to display tender nubs of future leaves and blossoms.

When Chris served the two plates and they sat side by side, free hands finding each other under the tablecloth, Tom ate for a moment and then removed his shades, saying, “Can we swim today?”

Chris turned to him, eyes wide. “You want to?”

Tom shrugged, picking at his food. “I think I would.”

He could feel the heat of Chris’s stare, his wide smile. “Okay, babe. We can swim. I was even thinking that later we could…take a walk.”

Tom chewed slowly and then drank a sip of juice. "Maybe."

Chris didn't press him and they finished their meal. While Tom rinsed the dishes and wiped down the counter, Chris stepped into the living room, cell phone in hand. He was probably texting Tom's father, letting them know how Tom was doing, what they'd been up to. It was one of the stipulations of Tom being allowed to stay at Christopher's house. He knew their parents spoke often, so information was passed along that way too. He tried to imagine what they might say to each other, affirmations that Tom was fine. That the boys slept a lot. That no, he wasn’t talking yet, at least not to them.

Tom and Chris spent the rest of the afternoon lounging on the sofa in the darkened living room, flipping through the channels until finally putting on a film. Chris decided on _Gladiator_ , a movie he had wanted Tom to see since he had been bitten by that spider.

Slumped on the long sofa, Tom lay over Chris, head resting on his chest, both facing the television. Chris felt every jump Tom gave, every sniffle, the warm splash of a tear on his shirt. The movie was a sad one, with rough patches of violence and betrayal and endearing displays of loyalty and friendship and love. All riddled together with the politics and schemes of Ancient Rome and its band of rulers and pawns of war.

"How did you like it, babe?" Chris asked as he replaced the disc into its case.

Tom shrugged and bit at a nail. "I liked it. Very emotional, especially the end. The visions of his family as he was dying. Walking into the arena as a slave, being carried out with respect while the emperor's body lay ignored in the sand. It was very good." He stood and then walked around the sofa slowly. "Plus, Russell Crowe is not exactly…bad looking."

He said it with a small smile on his face, trailing his hand over one of the cushions, feeling a bit of his old self peering through the fog obscuring him of late, something playful and familiar. He couldn't see Christopher, but distinctly sensed how still he'd become, the small sound of the movie case hitting the television table, and then quick steps before Chris was standing before him, all height and curling fingers, eyes wide on his face. He sighed and touched his lips to Tom’s throat, growling teasingly.

"Good looking, huh? Any other thoughts you might wanna share with me?"

Tom arched his back, bumping into the edge of the sofa as Chris leaned over him. Chris nipped at his ear and he gasped, smiling again. "Oh, it's nothing. Just all of the muscles...and the sweating and the sword fighting. It's not a bad look on him."

"Fuck Tom, if you're trying to make me jealous, it's working."

When Chris kissed him, Tom yielded easily, opening his mouth and tasting him as if he hadn't in years, his tongue like the salve on a wound only he could see. They moaned, hands clutching, Chris pushing him further back against the couch. Lips reconnected again and again in fast kisses before straying to his neck, Chris mouthing gently at his skin still displaying a faint bruised circlet.

Another push of his hips and they stumbled to the side, falling against the sofa arm. Tom felt their growing erections rub together through the loose material of their shorts.

A small tendril of panic alighted in his chest, and he struggled to avoid flinching from a blow that would never come. He buried his face in Chris's neck, inhaling his scent, feeling the warm wide hands on his back, as familiar to him as his own.

"Baby, I love you," Chris breathed over his cheek, angling Tom toward the front of the sofa.

"No, here!" Tom said quickly, grabbing Chris's shirt, keeping them upright on the sofa arm. "Here. Just like this, my darling. Please?"

Chris, eyes darting between his, glanced down at the couch and then back at him. "Okay, love. Okay. Just like this. It's alright, babe."

They fell back into their embrace, arms winding over Chris’s shoulders. Chris hauling him forward by the waist, thrusting his hips ever so slightly. Tom widened his stance so that Chris fell more snugly against him, and Chris deepened their kiss, as if in thanks. His hands roamed under his shirt and fanned over the small of Tom's back, hands that would never curl into cruel fists against him. His fingertips bumped lightly against the knobs of his spine, sending a tight zip of arousal to Tom’s core.

They rutted together, heat gathering between them, their shorts bunching, shirts riding up.

"Chris," Tom moaned, gripping his blond hair. "Chris, darling."

"Yes, babe," Chris answered, cradling him against his chest, the light from the back sliding door glinting over the crown of his head. Tom blinked, guarding himself from it. "I've got you, Tom. I love you." 

He thrust and rubbed them together, over and over, until Tom was nearly weeping with pent up frustration. He came only moments before Chris, neither lasting very long. He spasmed and bent forward, their bodies two curves over the sofa arm. Crying out, he clung to Chris and felt his orgasm as hot as a midday sun, spending in his shorts in long spurts. How long had it been? How long had it been since that white light blinded him, noise snuffed out, skin buzzing with sensation and color and wind? How long since Chris's name was a scream in his mind, since he'd felt so overwhelmed by the boy before him, his scent and his weight and the feel of his body and all that he knew belonged solely to _him_?

Too long.

When he came only seconds after, Chris was just as loud, grunting and grinding into him, gripping the back of Tom's neck, as if Tom might disappear into misty vapor, lost to him forever. So fearful were his eyes, round and thick-lashed, as he held Tom to him, insistent and possessive.

They stood there, breathing hard, both sticky and trembling. Chris drew back and they stared at each other, wide-eyed and shocked.

"Fuck," Chris whispered, already taking a step back. But Tom grasped at him.

"No, don't go. Stay with me."

Lashes fluttering, Chris froze and then gathered Tom in his arms for a hard hug. It was only a moment that passed but Tom laughed quietly, smothered against Christopher's chest. He laughed again, a little harder, vision jumping with tears.

"You won't hurt me," he whispered, hands tightening on Chris. "You won't hurt me and it's the most _beautiful_ thing. This knowing." He took Chris's head and met his gaze. "Because you are not him. It's the simplest thing. The most beautiful thing. I feel myself withdrawing in, and I can feel him, Christopher. I can feel him."

Chris made a small angry noise in the back of his throat, bumping forward again, teeth clenched.

"In my sleep," Tom continued, heart near to bursting, Christopher's show of protectiveness amping his pulse. "Sometimes if I'm not careful and don't guard my thoughts, I'll feel him when I'm awake. I'll hear his voice. Right in the middle of people talking to me."

"What do you hear, babe? Tell me. Please." The word was choked out. Broken.

"Things he said to me that night," Tom said, sobbing softly. "In my head sometimes they come out worse, darker."

"No," Chris breathed, lips hovering over Tom's. "No. I will take those from you. Override them with my own words. Words that will drown him out. You’ll only feel my touch. You won’t dread it, babe. Not from me."

They cried together, still panting and sticky. But they hardly noticed. Not when all they could see was their tears and their smiles and their love.

"You will. I know you will, darling, but I can't help but feel it will be some time before I can't...hear or feel him anymore."

"Do you feel him now? Baby, do you hear him?"

"No. God no. It's all you. All you." He swept his hands up Chris's back, bunching forward on him, and they kissed again, hard, tongues winding.

Chris groaned and rocked him forward, crowding him, wrapping Tom tight in his arms. "No one will touch you. Not when you don't want them to. Never again. You hear me?"

"Yes, my darling. Yes, Chris, thank you."

It took only the smallest of moments after Tom whispered the words in Chris's ear before they were stripping off their clothes, sliding open the back door and slipping into the cool waters of the pool, bobbing on its surface, lips pressed together once more. They kept to the edge, Chris anchoring his arm outside to keep his cast dry. The sun beat down hotly, their skin reddening within the hour. But still they lay in the water, hands linked, gazing at each other, lashes heavy with chlorinated prisms; or else sat on the sapphire-tiled steps, heads back, feet skimming together.

When they dragged themselves out hours later, they were raisin-skinned and red, but smiling, no words between.

Famished, they ate ham sandwiches with juice. And it wasn't long until Tom's sweet tooth cravings had Chris pulling him to his feet.

"We slept so much last night. My back hurts. Does yours?"

In all honestly, it did. Being prone in limited positions for so long had his muscles aching and tight. The swim helped a bit, regardless.

Tom nodded, smiling at the glint in Chris's eyes that told him he was on to an idea.

"Want to take a walk with me? I want a donut. Let's walk the couple of blocks to the shop and I'll buy us some. Please?"

Tom, knowing he could never refuse that face, nodded and they went upstairs to change.

**

It felt like everyone knew, everyone could see. The shame on his face, the dirt of it all. As if all the drivers and passersby near them could simply look at him and know what Shaw had done. The bubble of normality he felt when alone with Chris burst upon meeting the full force of daylight and the casual but hurried atmosphere of the city streets.

Tom found himself gripping Chris’s hand harder, stepping close to him, wanting to sink into the long line of his shadow and be safe and at home there.

“Darling.”

“Yes, babe.”

“Later. I’m not sure when. But later, would you help me move my room around?”

They were rounding the corner to the donut shop and stopped at the intersection. Chris, who had Tom under his arm, pressed the button to cross, both wearing shades over their eyes. Chris looked down at him.

“Move it around?”

"Yes. To look like…well to look like yours.” He cast his eyes down to their sneakered feet and black dotted sidewalk.

The light turned green and they started across.

"We can change it around, no problem," Chris was saying, taking Tom's hand and walking them through the parking lot. "It makes a lot of difference for you?"

"Yes," Tom answered honestly. "Think about last night. I know you haven't been sleeping because of me. I wake up and I'm disoriented and I'm half asleep, and it's costing us both our rest, my love. But last night, we didn't wake once. We slept for almost sixteen hours."

Already the difference could be seen on just their faces. Their eyes weren't as sunken in, there were no bruises beneath them, and their cheeks had more color. Maybe they would lose the dazed look on their faces now after so many days of sleep and recovery. Tom certainly hoped so. He didn't like to see Christopher suffer so.

Chris stopped just before the entrance. "I chose not to sleep because I wanted to be there for you if you needed me. It was nothing, babe."

Tom was about to interrupt, but Chris hurried to continue. "It's _nothing_. I wanted to be there for you. And fuck yes, we slept fifteen hours. That was amazing. Let's do it again tonight." He snatched a quick kiss before opening the door and ushering Tom inside.

Several heads turned to see who entered, and Tom immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, suddenly glad for the dark shades he was wearing. But the aromas of the shop set his mouth watering and he peeked at the rows of freshly baked donuts, all frosted with different flavors in different colors, sprinkled over in a dizzying rainbow variety.

An older woman with a pink apron stood at the counter writing on a notepad when they stepped up to the register. She smiled at them and tucked the pen behind her ear. Tom ordered one with chocolate frosting and white sprinkles and Chris got one with caramel frosting and chocolate sprinkles.

"Can we share a milk, darling?" Tom whispered, running his hand down Chris's forearm.

"Milk for the fairy?" someone said quietly to Tom's left, in that offhanded way people spoke when they thought no one was listening. A snigger followed.

They turned and saw a slightly older man, maybe late twenties, standing off to the side, crooked grin to match his wrinkled shirt and worn flip flops. He deposited his crumpled napkins and empty coffee cup into the bin and winked at Tom as he began to turn away. If the bruises on Tom’s face bothered him in any way, he didn’t show it.

"What did you say?" Chris said, eyes narrowing. Tom stood between them, and he suddenly felt directly in the line of fire. Even though Chris wore his cast, unsure if that’s what made the man brave to say anything in the first place, Tom still hesitated, knowing what Chris could do with his left hand.  

The guy stopped and cocked his head, smiling at them again. "Me? I didn't say anything."

"Get on out of here, Sam," the woman behind the counter said. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"What did you say?" Chris repeated a little louder, straightening and turning to face the man.

The man let out a small breathy laugh and then shrugged. "Nothing. Don't worry about it." He took a small step toward Tom and reached his hand out, clearly about to grasp his shoulder in a gesture meant to be friendly. Tom held his breath, starting to shrink back. "I was just kidding. What's the big—."

Chris's left hand shot out, fingers grabbing the man's wrist, preventing him from touching Tom's arm, only inches away.

"Don't even think about it," he whispered, walking in front of Tom and blocking the man's view of him. He gripped his wrist tighter. "Have anything else to say?"

The man's eyes narrowed, jaw clenching in anger. The shop had gone suddenly very quiet, only the patchy country song wafting from a ceiling speaker sounded in the quiet. Around the counter came the woman, splotches of dough and flour on her apron.

"Alright Sam, that's enough. Get on out of here now."

"I didn't do anything," he hissed.

"Like hell you didn't," Chris said, his soft voice giving even Tom shivers. "Say it again. Go on. I want to hear you say it."

Sam eased back when Chris took another step toward him. "You fucking—."

"Sam!" the woman said. "You need to leave now."

"You kicking me out?" his brown eyes snapped to hers, incredulous.

"Oh please. Like you weren’t just about through. And anyway, this is my shop. I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone. Now get out of here. Come back when you're ready to be decent to people."

Sam snatched his arm away, and Chris let him go, fists tightening. The man spun on his heel and left the shop, slamming the door behind him. It was like life was breathed back into the place, everyone exhaling quietly, eyes still sharp on the two boys and the woman at the front counter.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said quietly, smoothing her apron. "He's a bad egg. A regular, unfortunately. But I've had about enough of him. Are you two alright?" Her eyes danced over the discoloration on Tom’s skin, her gaze straying to Chris’s cast, and back up again.

Tom had already made his way to Chris's side, taking his hand, trying to make eye contact. Chris's face was hard as stone.

"We're okay," Tom said quietly, more to assure Chris than the woman.

"Damn fool," she said to herself and walked back around the counter. "Everything is on the house. Even that milk you were wanting, love." She winked at Tom and smiled kindly. Her face turned sadly serious. "We don't support or tolerate those opinions in this business. I refuse to abide by them. You're sweet young men. I'm sorry you had to go through that just now."

Tom only nodded at her, thanking her silently. Chris still hadn't looked up. She bagged everything for them, tossing in a couple of extra donuts, and they left the shop, finding a bench in the neighboring park to sit on. The bag sat on the scarred wooden seat, but it remained ignored, as the boys turned to each other and embraced silently, Chris's whispered _I'm sorry's_ and Tom's _shh darling's_ heard quietly in the small shaded grove.

"He didn't touch you. He didn't touch you," Chris said, drawing back and peering at Tom's face, bracketing it with his hands.

"No, my love. He didn't. He didn't." They fell against each other again.

"I'm sorry for what he said, babe. What the fuck is wrong with people?" Chris’s muffled voice vibrated into Tom’s shirt.

"I don't know. And I don't care about what he called me. I've been called worse," he said, recalling the party that long ago night last fall, or the night just over a week ago as he ran through his house in fear. He blinked and scoffed lightly. "Fairy. Honestly. How original."

Chris laughed wetly, breath huffing against Tom's neck. "Fairy. You're my fairy. My Puck. My everything. I don’t care if I sound like the biggest mush right now. I’m so fucking mad." He laughed and then hid his face in Tom’s shirt again.

"Darling," Tom whispered, blushing. His eyes brightened. "Our donuts!" He reached behind him and they opened the bag, pulling out two of the pastries. Tom uncapped the bottle of milk and they took tiny sips between their bites of sugared doughy goodness. Tom reached out to wipe the last few of Chris’s tears from his cheeks before they dried. They stared at each other as they chewed, giggling and sharing small bits of the different kinds in the bag, until all four donuts were gone.

They sat in the quiet, far off traffic noises occasionally interrupting their reverie. Some shouts came from the middle of the park and they turned, seeing a basketball match between a group of men and women, older, seemingly all good friends. They moved together well, calling for passes or groaning in mock frustration if they missed a shot.

Chris stared and flexed his right hand, the cast a crisp white against his jeans.

“I haven’t signed it yet,” Tom said, following Chris’s gaze.

Chris blinked. “What, babe?”

“Your cast. Can I sign it? Unless you want to keep it like that.” He shrugged and downed the rest of the milk.

“I want you to write your entire name and anything else you want to put on here. Even a poem, if you’d like.”

Tom smiled. “I’ll have to think of one.”

Chris turned from the game and pulled Tom to his feet, tucking him under his arm again, and headed for home.

**

“School tomorrow,” Chris said, absentmindedly. Already he was thinking about what might happen there, if rumors were already being whispered. He needed to speak to his coach, he needed to grab Tom’s assignments, he needed to check the feel of the place. See how people were reacting.

Tom hummed noncommittally beside him, eyes closed, facing the stars.

Chris watched him; watched the ambitious stalks of new grass straining toward the sky, the tips tangling in Tom’s hair. He watched Tom drum his fingers against his chest, his other hand held loosely in Chris’s own.

It was just after dinner and they were outside. Tom still wasn’t talking in front of the adults, and their parents seemed fine with that. His mother, on a rare night home from the hospital, kept up the conversation with stories about what happened on her rounds that night as she prepared a meal. His dad read the newspaper, as he always did at the table, and Chris and Tom ate silently, speaking through their eyes. They helped wash up and then stole into the backyard, flopping onto their backs and counting the constellations.

Tom’s parents were due to arrive any moment. They wanted to discuss what their lawyer had told them about the case, about Shaw. Tom didn’t want to listen to any of it, but Chris felt it would be good to be informed.

“You know how it is in all those crime shows,” Chris murmured, flicking a bug away from his face. “No one is allowed to talk about anything to anyone until the trial is over. Well, oops. Jason knows and I don’t care.”

Tom smiled. He didn’t care that Jason knew either. Jason had known for a long time, regardless.

Chris sat up suddenly and then grinned down at Tom. “I’ll be right back, babe.” He jumped to his feet and disappeared into the house. Sitting up on his elbows, Tom watched him go, wondering what he was up to.

The backyard seemed to darken suddenly, the night noises sounding louder, closer. The flat spot on the grass where Chris had been lying was already starting to adjust itself, the soft breeze rustling the grass gently.

Tom glanced around, swallowing past the flutter of panic in his throat. There was nothing there. No one there. Chris would be right back. He was just here and he would be back.

Still, he sat up and crossed his legs, focusing on his breathing, cataloguing the various aches and bruises on his body, guessing how much less they hurt that day. His bottom was still sore, but no pain presently. He’d been washing himself carefully, but otherwise not touching himself there. There had been slight tearing, and blood, but the ointment that the doctor prescribed him was helping. He was supposed to apply it at night, and Tom did, to the best of his ability, in the privacy of the bathroom. With their strange sleeping pattern, sometimes he applied it during the day, face red with something akin to shame.

As intimately as Chris knew him, as much as he’d been helping Tom bathe and stay clean, Tom felt that the ointment was something only he could do. He didn’t want Chris to see that part of him yet, not when he felt it wasn’t as he knew it should be.

He shifted on the grass, gauging the soreness, and found it to be tolerable, if nearly gone. They’d been taking less of the pain medication, so it must mean that he was healing, finally. The cut on his head was still tender, and the stitches had yet to fall out. His face was still bruised. His throat still bruised. His ribs still bruised. He just ached. But it was getting better. He had to believe that. Staying in Christopher’s room, he knew he would get better faster.

He was taking another deep breath when Chris came back, holding his hand out to Tom. “Your parents are here.”

James and Diana gave Tom warm hugs, his mother kissing the side of his face, looking him over, asking if all was okay. Tom nodded and smiled, turning to Chris when he jumped in with their trip to the donut shop, leaving out the angry exchange between himself and that man, Sam.

“Sugar is good, I’ve always said it,” James cut in, holding his hands in mock surrender when Diana turned to him with playful reproach.

They greeted Chris’s parents and soon all were sitting round the dining room table, slicing into the pastry that Chris’s father bought at the market that day.

“The lawyer came by today,” James said, cutting right to the chase. “The results of the rape and assault kit are back.”

Tom swallowed, the pastry a hard lump lodged in his throat. He sipped the water he and Chris were sharing and then sat back, crossing his arms.

“But we don’t have to discuss that now, Tom. The lawyer had other information regarding Shaw and the trial.”

Tom, personally, didn’t see the point in keeping the results of the rape kit hidden. Everyone knew what had happened. Everyone was there. Or at least, that’s how it felt.

He turned to Chris, who bent his ear close. Feeling the gaze of their parents, Tom flushed slightly and then whispered to Chris.

“Can we see that?” Chris said quietly, holding out his hand for the results.

James cleared his throat. “Alright, let me just…” He flipped through the pages in the folder before him, taking out a single sheet and adjusting his glasses. He handed it to Chris and both boys bent over the piece of paper. Tom read silently. “Thirty seven year old Caucasian male. Nineteen year old Caucasian male. Lab results confirm traces of forced penetration found on perpetrator’s index, middle, and ring fingers, as well as skin cells of same fingers found on victim’s rectum.” Chris took Tom’s hand. They read on. “Minor tearing in rectum and shallow anal cavity.”

Tom’s vision blurred and he blinked fast to clear it. He must not have been conscious when these evaluations were performed. He was grateful for that.

“Evidence of defensive wounds on victim’s hands and forearms, including skin traces beneath fingernails. Scratch marks on perpetrator’s wrists, face, and neck are direct match. Attack wound of blunt force trauma to victim’s forehead, resulting in laceration, bruising and concussion. Stitches applied. Other wounds include, blow to jaw, left ribcage, severe irritation of right eye, strangulation, and bruising to hips and inner thighs (dated older).”

Tom’s face was red when he and Chris met eyes. Sure that his parents had already read the results, Tom was fairly confident that they knew what those older bruises were from.

“The lawyer said that based on these results as evidence, as well as what the police found back at the house, Shaw has a strong chance of being found guilty. They’re planning to charge him with breaking and entering, trespassing, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, because of the chemicals he used to drug you. Sexual abuse, sexual assault and harassment, and stalking.”

“Stalking?” Chris asked, just as surprised as Tom. How had the police found out about the stalking?

“Yeah. Turns out the judge assigned a court order for Shaw’s house to be thoroughly searched. They found nothing in his classroom. But the house…Jesus.”

“What did they find?” Leonie asked, coming to stand beside her husband. James and Diana looked at each other and then James spoke again.

“Sick, sick stuff.” He ground his jaw together and then yanked his glasses off, wiping them with his shirt. “Child pornography, sexual paraphernalia. Small trinkets, very random, like he’d collected little things from other assaults. And your phone, Tom.” He shook his head, replacing his glasses. “Your phone was there. And pictures of you. On the wall, like some kind of…of _pervert_.”

“Jesus Christ,” Craig murmured, rubbing his eyes. Silence fell over them. Tom was staring at his lap, at Chris’s hand overlapping his, tanned and veined, his smaller hand a pale slip just beneath.

“You don’t think…,” Craig started, looking at Tom. “You don’t think he was the one who broke into Chris’s car? I mean. You were in the car. What if it was him and he was after you the whole time and not some kid after the stereo or something?”

The others looked at one another, clearly not sure, but Tom shifted, feeling the room start to shrink in on him.

Chris was staring at him, brow furrowed with worry.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Diana said and Leonie reached to grip her hand.

The moment passed and Tom felt his chest crack open slightly, air flowing into his lungs again.

“And even though Tom is considered an adult, it is still strictly against the law for teachers to prey on students. Tom's status as a student will condemn Shaw even more.” James sighed, looking for all the world as if no punishment given Shaw would ever be enough.

Tom’s pulse started to slow, but he still felt uneasy about all this information. He wanted to lie down in a dark corner and process all this.

“I spoke with the school on Friday, Tom,” his mother said. “You are more than welcome to go back at any time, but if you don’t want to, you’ve been excused for the rest of term, as long as you complete your work from home. They can give your assignments to Chris.”

After they wrapped up that conversation, they strayed into less troubling topics and finished their dessert a short while later.

Before they left, Tom’s parents presented him with a new mobile, the latest model of his original phone, the one Shaw had stolen.

“For when you need us, love,” his mother said quietly, eyes misting over.

Tom held the small box in his hand, feeling his heart constrict painfully at the sight of his mother in tears before him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and she sobbed quietly, hearing him speak for the first time since it all happened. He hugged her, the box crushed between them.

“Let us know about tomorrow, son,” James said, hugging Tom last.

They left and Tom fell back against Chris, exhausted.

“We’ll be in our room,” Chris called into the kitchen, where his mother responded vaguely.

“Our room?” Tom said, smiling.

Chris shrugged. “Well, it is.”

They plugged in Tom’s new phone to charge, Chris fiddling with it, inputting phone numbers into it from his own contact list. He sent Jason a text with Tom’s new number.

It was then that Tom saw the nail polishes and cotton balls and acetone lined up on Chris’s desk. “What’s all this?”

Chris looked up. He smiled and put the phone away. “Oh! I, uh. I wanted to see if I could paint your nails.” He gave Tom a sheepish look, but waited for his okay.

Feeling the slow tug of his lips, Tom smiled and then glanced down at his nails, only his thumbs displaying evidence of being recently painted. The pink polish was chipped and needed a fresh coating.

“Okay,” he whispered, picking at the flaking polish.

“Yeah?” Chris smiled, already maneuvering him to the bed. “I grabbed the cottons and the remover from my mom’s room. Get comfy. I might take a while.”

Tom sat back against the headboard, crossing his legs. Chris gathered everything and then sat cross-legged in front of him, the bed dipping under their weight.

“Okay, first we remove,” Chris murmured to himself, soaking a cotton ball in acetone. Fibrous pink splotches took over the white of the cotton ball and then that was discarded in the direction of the trash bin with a flick of Chris’s left wrist. The ball hit the wall and fell to the floor with a soft bounce, a foot off its mark.

Chris frowned. “Shit.”

Tom cupped his chin and turned him back around. “You’re perfect,” he whispered and Chris smiled, looking down. He took Tom’s wrist and held him steady.

Tom’s nails were short and clean, and when Chris drew the first stripe of bright blue over his thumb, they both watched with bated breath as he smoothed the color with a patient hand. He painted all ten of his nails, doing a second coat to intensify the shade of blue.

“Do you like them?” Chris asked, putting the polish away on his desk. Tom held his hands up and fanned his fingers. He smiled and nodded fast.

“They are so pretty. Thank you, love.”

“The spots of blue and the color of your skin reminds me of the sky at the beach,” Chris said softly in his ear. He held Tom’s hand up. “Here there would be gulls flying, squawking their arrival. And out on the waves would be the daredevils, the surfers.” He trailed his thumb down Tom’s knuckles into the bony meat of his hand. “And down on the sand, brown and pale and faded and lovely, as the sun does to all things, would be me and you. Sleeping probably.” He laughed and kissed Tom’s cheek. “Hold them up! Let them dry!”

They lay back against the mattress, the room dark and calm. Tom held his hands flat on his chest, the ceiling fan sending a steady flow of thin air over them.

Chris nuzzled his head close and whispered in his ear. “It’s good to hear you talk again, babe. I missed your voice.”

It was amazing to Tom the kinds of things that still made him blush. The soft yearning in Christopher’s words was one of those things.

“Have you decided? About tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t know.” Words like _forced penetration_ and _skin cells_ and _blunt force trauma, laceration victim rectum tearing strangulation victim victim victim_ kept bursting like tiny white lights behind his eyelids, drawing him away from the present, away from Chris.

“You don’t have to go back, babe. Not if you don’t want to. By now they’ve probably already hired a substitute for Shaw’s classes. But you don’t have to go. I can bring your work home to you.”

Tom imagined how things might be. The stares. The whispers. The desk in the front row where he would sit dreading the entire hour.

“I don’t know, Chris. I’m not sure.”

Chris leaned up on his elbow and touched Tom’s hair. “Okay, babe. You don’t have to decide yet. I’ll scope it out. Check the vibe. Maybe no one is even aware yet.”

_But they will be_ , Tom thought.

And when they fell asleep that night, after showering and brushing their teeth, Tom’s blue-nailed hands tucked tight between their bodies, he figured some alone time might be good for him. He couldn’t have Chris with him all the time. And he was safe, even when apart from him. Shaw was at the hospital, under guard.

And he had his new phone, able to text Chris whenever he needed him.

It will be okay, he told himself, eyes blinking slower and slower to match Chris’s breaths. It will be okay. It had to be. It was all he could hope for.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3

When his alarm went off for a second time, Chris hit the snooze button again and then rolled back toward Tom.

“I don’t want to get ready,” he whispered.

Tom blinked up at him and brushed a strand of hair out of Chris’s eyes. They’d been awake for a half hour already, just holding each other in the quiet.

“I don’t want you to either.”

They cuddled closer, lips hovering, as the alarm went off for a third time. Chris grabbed his phone and then kissed Tom on the cheek quickly before getting to his feet with a reluctant sigh.

**

Parked outside Tom’s house an hour later, they stared up at it, at the lawn still trampled from the emergency services personnel, at Tom’s window still shuttered tight.

“I’ll come get you as soon as school lets out,” Chris whispered.

Everyone had agreed that Tom should spend the days he wasn’t at school at his house, where his mother would be able to help him with anything he might need. With Chris’s parents at work and Chris at school, they didn’t want Tom to be alone throughout the day.

“She’ll want to talk,” Tom whispered. “I won’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, babe. Not if you don’t want to.” Chris took his hand. “She’ll understand.”

Tom nodded and then started unbuckling his seat belt. Chris inched closer. “You can text me, okay? No matter what time of day. I’ll respond as soon as I can.”

Tom nodded again and then leaned across. They kissed softly, hands grasping at each other until they were folded in a hard embrace, about to be separated for the first time since the night it all happened.

“Try to sleep, babe. It’ll make the day go faster.”

“No, Chris. I can’t. Not without you.”

Foreheads pressed tight, they breathed together, Tom’s tears slipping hotly down his cheeks.

“Babe, no,” Chris said gruffly, wiping at them with his thumbs. “Don’t cry. I’ll be right back.”

“I love you,” Tom whispered, and they collapsed into their embrace again, Chris clenching his jaw against his own tears threatening to spill.

**

“Hems, holy shit,” Jaime said, upon seeing him in the halls that morning. He touched Chris’s cast carefully, horror widening his eyes. He peered behind him. “Where’s Tom?”

Chris said nothing, still picturing the quiet alarm on Tom’s face after Chris had walked him to the front door, promising to be back as soon as he could.

He shook his head in response.

“It’s true then,” Danny said softly, coming to stand beside them. He clasped Chris’s shoulder gently. “I’m so sorry, Chris.”

He pulled them to the side. “What have you heard? Are people really talking a lot about this?”

Already detecting the buzz that only a juicy rumor could generate the moment he’d entered the school, Chris could feel the stares and questioning glances of those who parted way for him in the halls, hear their resumed whispers as soon as he passed through, the sudden silence if he turned back. It was like a bull’s eye on his forehead and he swallowed past the bile rising in his throat. He was glad Tom wasn’t here to feel this.

Shaw’s classroom was closed, the lights beyond the small window shut off. All math periods were being directed to the older section of the school in the spare classroom used for storage of rickety desks, tightly furled flags, and antiquated sports equipment.

Jaime lowered his voice, casting a quick gaze around. “When we didn’t hear from you the first day of break, we figured something came up, no problem. And when I got your text that you couldn’t make it, I put it out of my mind and enjoyed the rest of the weekend. But all of us on the beach trip found out something super weird had happened as soon as we got back into town.”

Danny nodded. “It spread fast. Whispers about Mr. Shaw and Tom, what he did to him. That he tried to…” He swallowed and looked away, disgusted. “And you, Chris. That you were there. That you stopped Mr. Shaw.” His brows puckered in worry. “Did you? Did you stop him?” he asked quietly, eyes dropping to his broken wrist, face falling open in apology.

“I can’t talk about any of it. We’ve been forbidden, because of the investigation. But Tom is…better. He’s at home.”

“What the fuck happened, Hems?” Jaime asked, both crowding closer to him. Around them, students clustered against the lockers, some staring at them openly, others pretending to pack books into their bags, ears straining to hear their conversation. Like curious spectators at the scene of an accident.

 _Or a crime_ , Chris thought savagely, taking a deep breath.

“Look guys, I can’t talk about it just yet. Let’s just say that a lot of what you’ve heard isn’t wrong.”

They both inhaled, glancing at each other.

“But,” Chris went on. “I came today because I wanted to feel everything out. Test the waters before Tom comes back.” _If he comes back_. “But I’ve been here ten minutes and everyone shuts up as soon as I get close.”

“We’ll keep an ear out,” Jaime said.

“Yeah,” Danny added. “People are definitely talking. We’ll let you know what’s up.”

The bell rang and Chris clapped each on their shoulders. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

All of the first period teachers gave a short announcement as soon as everyone was settled in their seats. They explained that something very serious had happened over the break that most likely was already being talked about among the student body. They encouraged the students to refrain from spreading rumors and to focus on their schoolwork. They would need everyone’s cooperation during whatever investigation followed, and that included going about business as usual to make sure the second half of the semester went as smoothly as possible.

Chris had math first period, and instead of the substitute teacher talking to the class, Principal Williams spoke to them personally.

Chris couldn’t help but notice how the principal’s eyes kept glancing over him as he spoke, until Chris finally looked down and zoned everything out entirely.

It felt strange for him to be at school and know that Tom wasn’t somewhere in the building with him. Feeling his absence keenly, he pulled his phone out in a hurry to type out a text message.

_I’m having major separation anxiety._

The principal was wrapping up his announcement, giving the floor back to the substitute teacher.

His phone buzzed and he hurried to look.

_I miss you too._

Chris smiled, his heart tightening.

_What are you doing, babe? Tell me everything._

_Sitting in the backyard, where you painted my nails for the first time._

Chris blinked fast, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He wished he could be there with him, the sun warming their skin, squinting their eyes against the bright sky, instead of in this dusty makeshift classroom, half listening to a teacher that looked too green around the edges to be fully comfortable in front of a room of high school kids.

_I'm there with you, babe. I'm not here at all._

_You're here holding my hand, biting my knuckles like a puppy._

Chris sank lower in his seat, lesson forgotten.

_What else am I doing?_

_We'll lie in the grass later. Will you pick the stray bits of it stuck in my hair?_

Closing his eyes, he imagined Tom lying by himself in his backyard, flicking bugs from his face, legs crossed at the ankles.

_Yes. If you'll do the same for me?_

_Of course, my love._ And then, _How is it there?_

_Some talk going around. Teachers want us to focus on our lessons._

_Figured._

_Lunch time will probably tell me more._

Tom asked if Chris had seen Jason yet and Chris answered that he hadn't.

Tom replied with: _He texted me. Says a lot of hush hush going around._

_He's right. Atmosphere's off._

_Mom's calling me inside. Text me again?_

_I promise._

By lunch time, Chris was wound so tight, he stepped outside for a breather rather than head to the cafeteria. All the stares and the whispers, it was maddening. Being in class was something of a respite, the teachers monitoring the amount of talking. But the hallways were brutal. He couldn’t imagine what sitting in the lunchroom would be like.

Feeling it hit him from all sides, Chris desperately wanted to keep Tom away from such scrutiny. His cast felt like a flaming torch, a confirmation of sorts of what happened, what he did, the truth of that entire night.

It was starting to become harder to hide his anger, and it must have shown, because the crowds were parting faster and faster for him as the day wore on.

Come noon, Jaime and Danny found him on the front steps of the school.

“How are you feeling?”

Chris shrugged.

Danny handed him a wrapped bundle of chicken nuggets and French fries, as well as a small container of chocolate milk. Chris accepted them gratefully and started eating fast, his stomach growling with hunger.

They plopped down beside him.

Jaime sighed. “I’ve heard a few stories and word is that Shaw broke into Tom’s house and beat him up and then tried to rape him. But then you showed up and stopped him. You two fought and he broke your wrist. Police get there and take the two of you to the hospital. Another person even said Shaw died but the school isn’t saying anything yet.”

“Version I heard said he pulled a gun on you and that you drop kicked it away like some kind of Chuck Norris movie.” Danny sighed, taking a drink from his water bottle. “The worst one was that…I mean, do you really want to hear this, Hems?”

Chris sat straighter. “Yes. Every word.”

Danny met Jaime’s eyes and then he looked down. “Some guy in the locker rooms was saying that Mr. Shaw and Tom had this kind of agreement. That Tom would do…favors…for him. For better grades. They made it seem like Tom stayed after school that Thursday, but that this time, Tom didn’t want to and Mr. Shaw got rough with him. Forced him to act on their agreement. You showed up and stopped Mr. Shaw.” Danny tapped a rhythm on the bottle in his hands. “I told him he should keep his mouth shut about things he didn’t even know. He left for the soccer field right after.”

Chris heard a sharp ringing in his ears, vision narrowing to pinpoints in his mind.

_That Tom would do…favors…for him._

Chris had the sudden and unwanted image of Tom kneeling before Shaw in his classroom, unzipping his trousers, looking up at him with his blue eyes and long lashes, cheeks flushed, Shaw skimming the blond curls on his head with the same hand that had punched his face.

Chris felt all the blood drain to his feet.

He stood quickly, the other two leaning away in surprise. The crumpled napkin and empty container of milk skittered to the ground. Stepping over them, his hands fisted as anger bloomed in his heart.

“Fuck!” he screamed out into the front lawns, where brand new grass was being watered with sprinklers on a timer, spritzing their happy jets of water in stuttered half circles.

The boys stood quickly and came to his side.

“We know it’s not true, Chris,” Jaime said, putting a reassuring hand on Chris’s shoulder.

“Kids will say all kinds of stupid shit to get a good rumor going,” Danny agreed.

“You can’t let them get to you.”

“They don’t know him like we do.”

But they didn’t have to know him, Chris thought, chest heaving. All it took was one look at Tom to know how beautiful he was, how lovely and honest and kind. Tom would never agree to such… _bullshit_. It was all there to see, how could they not see?

“It’s easy to spin stories off a person no one really knows,” Jaime said, holding his arm firmly. “Tom is quiet. He doesn’t really talk to anyone. Walks through the halls quickly, gets to where he needs to be. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he hurried to say when Chris tossed him an angry glare. “But before you two got together, he was easy to miss. A person like that can have nearly any kind of story made up about him.”

“And these kinds of situations are perfect for gossip like that,” Danny said quietly.

Chris shook his head, willing himself to remain calm. It was so typical of people to spin some kind of blame on the victim, to make it as if it wasn’t solely Shaw’s fault. But Shaw had been good at the game he played. If it hadn’t been for Tom’s situation, Chris might have never suspected about Shaw’s disgusting nature either, seeing him as others probably saw him, kind and goofy even, joking with the students, easy to talk to, a good teacher.

Shaw reserved the depth of his hideous honesty for those whom he sought to subdue. Otherwise, what purpose would it serve if a predator scared off all its prey before it had a chance to pounce? In hindsight, it was simple. The signs were all there. The staring, the excuses to touch, the whispers. But Shaw was smart. He had been so careful. He got what he wanted from Jason. And when he couldn’t get the same from Tom, he got careless and daring, his need to claim and control and _have_ finally getting the better of him.

But not knowing the whole truth, sworn to silence as Chris and Tom were while the investigation continued, other people would speculate and wonder, no doubt about the intimate nature of the relationship the student might have had with the teacher, what kind of arrangement might have been in place.

_Might have might have might have._

Chris squatted, hands at his temples, feeling the heat of the day pour down on him.

“Hey,” Danny said, squatting next to him, hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “It’s worse than I thought. How can Tom come back to this? I can’t let him hear this shit. He’s only just started talking again.” He swallowed back a sob and rubbed at his eyes.

“Chris,” Jaime said, standing to let his shadow rest over his kneeling figure. “You’re not alone in this. I know you can’t say much, but you’re our friends. If Tom decides to come back, we’re going to be here for him, and for you. There are people who I’ve heard talk about how sad the whole thing is. How sorry they are that Tom went through that. A girl in my Physics class wanted me to tell you she’s sorry about your arm.”

They stayed there with him until he gathered himself, standing finally and taking a deep breath.

“I wish I could tell you,” he said quietly. “I wish you could know. Everyone could know, what a shit creep Shaw is. There are still bruises on Tom’s face,” he gritted out, and then turned to Danny. “Who was it? Who was it that said those things about Tom? In the locker room?”

Danny’s gaze cut to Jaime, and then back to Chris. “It was no one, Chris. Some stupid sophomore.”

Chris started pacing, fists clenching. “It wasn’t Eric? You would tell me if it was Eric?”

“No! It wasn’t him,” Danny said, taking his arm to hold him still. “And yes I would fucking tell you if it was Eric. But strangely, I saw him earlier and he’s very quiet about the whole thing. Hasn’t opened his mouth for anything.”

Before Chris could ponder at that, the front doors of the school opened and a security monitor called out to them.

“No students on the front lawns!”

“Yeah, okay!” Jaime said, pulling Chris to their bags. “We’ll be right in!”

They fell into step in the hallway, which was slowly filling with students just released from the lunch hour. Chris had his phone pulled out, about to text Tom, when a couple of students pushed past them, disappearing around the corner.

“What’s happening?” Jaime whispered.

A girl turned to him. “Fight broke out. Next hallway.” She rolled her eyes and walked into her classroom.

Already they could hear raised voices and shouts. Just that moment, Julie came skidding into the hall on her silver ballerina flats, eyes searching frantically.

"Chris!" she shouted as soon as she spotted him. She ran up to him and grabbed his hand, pulling him after her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, allowing himself to be dragged along.

A crowd had gathered around two boys wrestling on the floor, and Chris suddenly understood why Julie was in a panic. His heart lurched when he realized one of the boys was Jason. He sat astride the other boy, Mike or Matt or something, holding him up by the collar of his shirt.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Chris heard him growl, rearing back and punching the boy's face. The crowd gasped and inched closer as the other kid squirmed out from under Jason and landed a solid kick to middle of his chest, the force of which sent Jason sprawling across the floor, colliding violently against a row of lockers.

Chris pushed through the closest onlookers as the boy jumped to his feet and took a running start towards Jason. But before he could reach Jason, Chris stepped in and threw his left arm out, catching him squarely in the throat. The onlookers fell deadly quiet as he crumpled at Chris’s feet, coughing hard.

“Alright, alright!” came a voice near the end of the hall and everyone scattered.

Julie was kneeling by Jason, cupping his face. Jason was struggling to stand and Chris hurried to help him to his feet. His right brow was red and swollen, and his lip was split, blood dripping down his chin. He gasped and winced, holding a hand to his chest.

He let Chris pull him up as Coach Morgan, the P.E. teacher, approached.

"Chris, Jason, Matthew, come with me."

The other boy was climbing shakily to his feet, eyes murderous on Jason.

"You three, get to your classrooms. Now," the coach said, motioning to Danny, Jaime, and Julie, who stood by waiting, nervous.

"I'm not going anywhere," Julie said, taking Jason's hand.

"It's okay," he whispered to her, leaning close. "I'll go to your house tonight. It's okay, I promise."

"Baby," she whispered, hugging him hard. Jason winced, but returned her hug.

“That’s enough, Miss Miller. I asked you to get to class,” Coach Morgan ordered, pointing down the hall.

"Go with them, please," Jason said, and Danny walked up to Julie, pulling at her gently.

"You have to tell them," Julie said, tears in her eyes. Danny tugged her along, and she let herself be led, but turned back, pleading. "Jason, you have to tell them. They need to know!"

Jason sighed and looked at the ground as Danny, Jaime and Julie rounded the corner and out of sight.

"It wasn't him," Jason said quietly, breathing heavy. "It wasn't Chris."

"He hit me! I was defending myself!" Matthew said, hand at his throat.

"And Chris was defending me!" Jason shouted, pointing an angry, blood-lined finger at the boy.

"You fucking started it—," the boy said, taking another step toward Jason again. Chris stepped in front of him again and the boy drew back, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t care who it was, you’re all going to the principal’s office right now!” The coach stepped aside and motioned them towards the school’s lobby.

Principal Williams' office was austere and orderly, with lots of books and picture frames of family members and his various degrees mounted on the walls. Two chairs faced the desk, around which the boys stood awkwardly while the teacher waited by the door, keeping a stern eye on them.

Chris, like Matthew, refused to sit. Jason plopped down onto a chair and held a paper towel to his cut brow, wiping at his mouth with the bottom of his shirt. Chris cupped the back of his head and murmured if he was alright. Jason nodded but didn't look up.

Principal Williams walked in a moment later, looking grim and extremely annoyed. With a sigh, he sat behind his desk and dismissed the P.E. teacher, thanking him for his help. Turning to the boys, he asked them to tell him what happened. Jason started by explaining that he’d overheard Matthew in the hallway spreading vicious lies about what had happened to Tom, and that he’d confronted him about it.

"I was just repeating what I heard. It isn’t any different from what anyone else is saying." Matthew said, shrugging angrily.

Jason turned angrily. "They're complete lies!"

"Fuck you! What do you know!"

"A hell of a lot more than you, asshole!”

The principal cut in loudly. "That's enough! Both of you calm down.” He looked up at Chris. "What involvement do you have in this, Hemsworth?"

"My friend was in a fight. I stepped in to help him."

"He had nothing to do with it," Jason said. "It wasn't his fault."

The principal's eyes flicked down to Chris's cast before he nodded and said, "Alright. You can go now, Chris. I need to speak to these two privately."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not going anywhere without Jason," Chris said quietly. "And if any of this has to do with Tom Hiddleston, I'd prefer to stay."

Principal Williams sighed and ran a hand down his face. “Matthew, please wait outside.”

After he was gone, he gestured for Chris to have a seat.

“I understand you’ve been through a tough experience, but that doesn’t make it okay to come into this school and resort to viol—.”

“It wasn’t him!” Jason cut in. “That kid was spreading lies about my friend. I couldn’t just let people believe the kinds of awful things he was saying.”

“What was he saying?” Chris asked softly, somehow already knowing the truth.

“Terrible things,” Jason said, turning to him. “Complete bullshit, Chris.”

“Do not get off topic,” the principal cut in and both boys looked at him. “Tension is running high as it is. The whole school is on edge over what happened over break. Jason, you know better than to resolve issues this way. Normally this kind of behavior calls for suspension. But I’ll give you three days detention instead.”

“Just me, right?” Jason said, leaning forward.

“Just you,” the principal conceded. To Chris, he said, “I’m very sorry about what happened to you and your friend. Please believe me when I say on behalf of the entire school and its faculty and staff, that we will do whatever is necessary to get to the bottom of why this happened to you, and what we can do to prevent it in the future. Now Jason, seeing as you weren’t involved in any way, I’m going to have to ask—.”

“He raped me,” Jason said softly, eyes on the desk before him.

“I beg your pardon?” The principal’s brow furrowed.

“Jason,” Chris whispered, touching his wrist.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Jason said. Looking Principal Williams straight in the eye, he repeated himself. “He raped me. Three months before my parents made us move last year. It was at his house, in his garage. It was a Saturday and I couldn’t sit properly for nine days. I don’t know if I was the first one, but I sure as hell know I wasn’t the last. He attacked my friend.” His voice broke and tears burst over his cheeks. “And it’s my fault. It’s my fault because I didn’t _say_ anything. I didn’t come forward. And now this boy, this sweet, sweet boy is under attack. Being called names and blamed for this happening to him and worse. But I’m saying something now. I will not be quiet, especially when I keep getting told that I know nothing about it or that I wasn’t involved. These kids don’t know the half of it. I would never wish on anyone what happened to me or Tom. That man is a predator. And what Chris did to him isn’t a tenth of what he deserves.”

He sat still, white-knuckled hands clutching the armrests of the chair, chest rising and falling rapidly. Chris reached for his hand, and was relieved when Jason let him take it, squeezing his fingers tightly.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” he gasped, closing his eyes, another tear escaping. “I’m sorry. My silence hurt Tom the most. It’s my fault.”

“Shh,” Chris said. “Enough of that now. It’s not your fault.” He stood and Jason rose to meet him, both falling into a hard hug.

Principal Williams sat frozen behind his desk, stunned. He blinked up at the two boys, Jason’s sobs muffled in Chris’s shoulder. Chris looked at him, soothing Jason’s back.

“Can we go now?”

The principal stood, appearing a bit ashen. “Yes. But I’ll have to call Jason back into the office, to make an official statement. I’ll have a police officer here shortly. And his parents. I’ll need a parent present.”

Chris nodded and then led Jason out. Matthew was sitting in one of the chairs directly outside and he stood and walked in without looking at them.

Chris took Jason’s hand and led him out of the office and into the cool hallway. Taking him to the benches he and Tom used to sit on during summer school, they plopped down heavily.

Jason’s tears slowed, his breathing calmed and he sat quietly, staring out the window.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked.

Jason shrugged. “I honestly thought I’d take that with me to the grave. Well apart from those who already know.” He laughed, and then wheezed and grimaced, a hand on his chest. “Now I know what Eric was talking about. This hurts like hell.”

Remembering his fight with Eric in the parking lot, and the blow he landed to his chest, Chris said nothing. And then, “Does she know? Julie?” He’d heard what she said to Jason, about how he needed to tell ‘them’.

Collapsed against the wall, hand rubbing his chest gingerly, Jason nodded. “She knows. I told her as soon as it got serious between us. I wanted to be honest with her about it. I didn’t want it hanging over my head. In this relationship with her, you know? And I hadn’t been honest with anyone apart from you and Tom. And even then, I felt forced to tell you guys. I hadn’t been ready.” He laughed again. “Jesus Christ, the irony. But anyway. It was necessary. I don’t regret it. But with Julie. God.” He winced and shifted. “I needed to make sure it was okay with her that her boyfriend had been raped by another man.”

He said it so bluntly, Chris frowned. “I can’t imagine anyone would be okay with that, knowing the person they’re with was hurt.”

Jason smiled. “Oh, trust me. She’s not okay with that part. But about me. I really needed her…approval. That she didn’t see me as damaged or broken or weak. I didn't want her to see me as _less_. I needed to make sure of that.”

“I can tell she doesn’t see you that way,” Chris said softly. “I feel that she hurts with you.”

“My Julie,” Jason murmured, closing his eyes. “She’s pleaded with me to let her kill him. And I should have. I’m kind of scared of her a little, actually,” he admitted with a smile, eyes crinkling. “Pretty sure she spiked his coffee with chalk dust one time.”

They laughed quietly, a little sadly.

Running footsteps approached suddenly and then Eric turned the corner, stopping fast when he saw them sitting on the bench.

“Jason,” he said, a little breathless, eyes darting between the two. “I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay?”

Jason sat straighter, but he nodded. “Chris helped me out. But I have detention now.” He tried smiling but winced again.

Eric eyed Chris, giving him a wide, cautious berth until coming to stand by Jason’s side. “Thank you,” he said.

Chris shrugged and stood. “He’s my friend, too. Looks like you’ll be captain now,” he said, holding his wrist up. Before Eric could say anything, Jason turned in his direction and whispered, “Don’t.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Chris continued, looking at Jason. “Williams said he would call you back in and that he was going to notify your parents.”

Jason nodded, rubbing a hand down his face.

“And thank you, for defending him,” he said softly, touching his shoulder. Jason lifted his hand and touched his, nodding once more.

Chris left them and headed to his afternoon classes, fairly confident the teacher wouldn’t say a thing about how late he was.

**

After picking up Tom’s coursework, he stopped by the locker room and spoke briefly with his coach, who expressed sympathy over what had happened.

“It’s a damn shame. What he put that boy through. And this,” he said examining Chris’s cast. “I’m glad the bastard was caught. And that you handed it to him while you could. There are never second chances to things like that. You took your chance and I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Chris murmured.

“I’m sorry you won’t be able to finish the season. But what are you thinking about for college?”

He and Tom still hadn’t received any acceptance letters.

“Any day now, I’m figuring.” He shrugged. “I hope.”

“Good. You’ll get in, don’t worry. Let me know and I’ll write you a letter of recommendation. You can walk onto any team in the country, Chris, if you don’t get a scholarship.”

When he got to Tom’s house, he jumped out and jogged up to the doorway, letting himself in.

Diana was in the kitchen cleaning out the refrigerator.

He kissed her cheek in greeting. “How is he?”

“He’s out back, lying on the grass. Said it reminded him of you.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “That’s about all he said today.”

“He’ll come around,” he said softly. “Has he eaten anything?”

“A banana this morning, with some toast. And he declined anything for lunch.”

“Well that just won’t do, will it?” he said, and she smiled gratefully at him as he slipped out the sliding glass door.

Tom was on his back, dark shades on, hands crossed at his chest.

“Is that my puppy?” Chris whispered, far enough away that Tom wouldn’t be startled. Moving to sit up, Tom smiled up at him. “No, no, no, stay there. Don’t mind me.”

“Christopher,” Tom breathed, laying down as Chris took the spot next to him. They rolled to face each other, Chris tossing his arm across Tom’s waist. Tom laughed quietly, hugging Chris, pressing his face to his throat.

“I fucking missed you,” Chris said softly.

“I missed you too.”

“Can I keep you forever? And like, take you into the mountains and live there with you in a cabin. And maybe we’ll have a pet wolf. And farm our food and stuff.”

“We would die so fast.”

“Then let me amend my earlier statement. No farming. The _wolf_ would take the car into the city and bring us hamburgers and pizza. Plus I’d throw in a few more bucks so he can buy himself a whole chicken or something.”

Tom giggled. “Oh, we have a car now?”

“Is that more surprising than the wolf?”

Tom leaned his face up, shades obscuring his eyes from Chris. “What else?” he whispered, trailing a hand up Chris’s back.

“Well, it would have to snow in the winter, right? So there would be great big mounds of it pressed up against one side of our cabin, the wind set in one direction for days on end. And I would wrap you up in furs and our hair might be longer—.”

“—yours would be so pretty.”

“—and there would always be a fire going, and you would read to me at night and we’d suck on cinnamon sticks—.”

“Cavities.”

“—and you hush, puppy,” Chris growled, dancing his fingers over Tom’s ribs gently. “This is my story.”

Tom gasped and curled toward him, lips at his ear, panting lightly. “And what else, Christopher?”

Chris felt his blood zing with recognition and he willed his desire to go down, impossible.

“And I would make love to you every chance we could get. Which, being holed up in a cabin the long winter months, would probably mean we would be naked a lot. Just imagine us,” he whispered, cradling Tom’s face, staring at his parted lips, the slow rise of color on his cheeks. Even though his eyes were blocked from him, Chris knew they were half-lidded, going glazed with want, lashes trembling. “The winds would be freezing, cutting furiously around our cabin. But we would be safe inside, where the heat is so great, drops of sweat would roll off your body and drip onto mine."

Tom moaned his name quietly, reaching up for a kiss, and Chris felt the sky crack open in relief and anticipation.

Breaking apart quickly, they lay breathing together, Tom skimming the bottom edge of his lips with a blue-tipped finger.

"Baby?"

Breathy whisper. "Yes?"

Clenching his jaw, Chris resisted the urge to roll on top of Tom. "Baby, as much as it pains me to admit it, _really_ pains me, we cannot get hard-ons right now. Your mother is in the kitchen."

"Oh," Tom whispered, turning his head and staring at the window into the dining room, and then out over the yard, as if remembering where he was.

"Quick! Think of something! Um, bunny rabbits. Nascar."

"Wet aunt kisses! Cold September rains."

"Paper routes, taxes. I mean, I've never done them, but _taxes_."

They giggled and when they were more in control of themselves, Chris pulled Tom to his feet.

"I'm starved, come eat with me."

"Okay, love."

Diana got a nice full meal cooked for them once she saw them come inside, and after eating, they went up to Tom's room. As promised, Chris helped him move his furniture around. Both worked slowly, Chris limited by his cast, and Tom still mindful of his various aches. Chris filled Tom in about what happened at school, leaving out nothing except for the worst rumors.

When he got to the part about Jason and the fight and what he’d told the principal, Tom sat at the edge of the bed, listening rapt.

"I left him with Eric. His parents and the police were going to be called in."

"But why did he get into the fight in the first place? It doesn't seem like him."

 _Shit_. Chris hadn't thought that far ahead.

He shrugged and fixed the last drawer of the bureau in place, which now stood in front of the window as Chris’s did in his room. "Said he heard some lies being spread."

Tom's brow furrowed. "Spread? About whom? Did you hear anything?"

Chris sighed and sank down beside him. "About you. And yes, I heard some things too."

Tom stiffened. "What was it?"

"I don't want to repeat them, babe. It's bad."

"Tell me, Chris. Please."

"It's not important because it's not true--."

"Just tell me."

"Babe, no. It won't help anything. It'll only make it harder for you."

Tom stood fast and then spun to him. "Tell me! I want to know!"

The room was quiet in the wake of his yell, Tom looking down at him with wide eyes and clenched teeth, breathing heavily.

Chris stood slowly, hand out, reaching for him slowly. Tom slapped his hand away, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Don't. Don't try to ease this away. You won't tell me because you think I can't take it."

"I won't tell you because I love you, and words hurt. And because just thinking about it makes me fucking furious that anyone would say such things about you."

"But you heard it."

"No one would say a goddamn thing around me, Tom. I had to rely on what others told me they’d heard."

They stood a foot apart, the air charged between them.

"Tell me," Tom whispered, a tear tracking down his face.

Chris gritted his teeth and moved an inch closer. "There are a lot of things being said. Some people can't believe it happened, but they don't know all that many details--."

"Just tell me."

"I am!"

Tom's lashes flickered closed at his raised voice, but he stayed put, even if he lifted his hands slightly.

"Fuck," Chris muttered, looking away. Hands on his hips, he said, "Some, and I think they are very few, but some people think that you did Shaw sexual favors to get better grades. And that that day you had decided not to anymore and so he beat you and tried to force you."

Mouth open, Tom stared at him, chin trembling. He started shaking his head slowly.

"No," he whispered. "No, that--that can't be. I-I-I c-could never, Chris..."

Softening, Chris stepped closer, palms open. "I know, baby. I know. Why do you think while I was grilling Danny about who said those things, Jason was inside fighting someone over it? We know you would never do that, Tom. They're sick, vicious lies. It's part of this stupid thing we do as humans. We speculate and wonder and do all the things we would never do had it happened to _us_. It's like because it didn't happen to them, it gives them the right to talk shit, all the while having no idea how much their words hurt, how cruel they are.”

Tom was weeping, eyes stuck on Chris, not believing. Chris took another step, reaching.

"No," Tom kept repeating. "He came _here_ , and he hit me and he choked me and he threw me to the ground and he...he..." He broke down, hiding his face in his hands, quiet sobs echoing in the room.

"Baby, come here," Chris said, finally wrapping him in his arms, where Tom trembled and wept against his shirt. He rested his cheek on Tom's head. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you."

"But you need to, Christopher. If this is what my peers think of me--."

"No," Chris cut in, pulling Tom back and looking him in the eye. "This isn't what they think of you. It was the ridiculous speculation of one person. Not all of them. A lot of students are horrified. Walking around with wide eyes, one of their own hurt and attacked by a teacher. It's not something that happens every day and when it does, it grinds everything to a halt because it was a crime, Tom. A horrible crime was committed against you and Shaw will pay for it."

Tom blinked at him a moment, fresh tears spilling, and then his face broke and he was falling back against Chris, arms around his neck.

Chris clutched at him, whispering to him, hoping to shield him from any thing else that was lurking about to harm him.

"I'm not weak," Tom whispered.

"I know you're not, baby. I know you're not." He cradled Tom's head and drew back again, peering at him. "You are not weak. But you're so beautiful and kind and gentle, Tom. All things that people feel they can lay claim to. Even me." He looked down and closed his eyes.

"But I want you to claim me, Christopher," Tom whispered. "I want all of you, and I want to give all of myself to you. That's what I want. What I've always wanted."

Chris smiled, face a little red. "And that is all the difference, babe. What _you_ want. That's what made what Shaw did to you so very wrong. You didn't want it, and that should have been enough."

Tom sighed and leaned into him.

"It's going to be okay," Chris murmured, rubbing his cheek on soft blond curls. "Together, we'll fight through this and we're going to be okay."

Tom nodded against his shoulder, hands fisted in his shirt, swaying there for long minutes until he was able to breathe again.

**

They had a late dinner with Chris's parents, and then started their homework after showering together. Under the warm cascade of water, they stepped easily around each other, washing, hands trailing over their skin, until they were clean and drowsy.

Tom remained quiet throughout the afternoon and evening. Lying on their stomachs on the floor of Chris's bedroom, Tom stretched out beside him, elbows and hips touching. Papers spread before them, Tom scratched out equations in his notepad while Chris read through his history assignment. Leaning his head on Chris's shoulder, he whispered quietly, "I love you," and then continued with his calculations.

Later, as they stood shoulder to shoulder brushing their teeth, Chris felt his heart flutter when he looked up and Tom, watching him in the mirror, cast his gaze down and blushed.

In bed, they were under the blankets mere seconds before Tom was wrapping his limbs around Chris, lips pecking over his face.

"I'm sorry, Chris,” he whispered, voice thick. “For yelling at you earlier, my darling."

"No, babe. I raised my voice at you, too. I'm sorry."

Tom squeezed him, murmuring.

"It was a hard conversation, Tom. Emotions were high."

"Still. I'm sorry. You've done so much for me. Since the moment we first spoke to each other, so long ago last summer, you've been taking care of me, protecting me. I can't thank you enough. You make me stronger."

"We make each other stronger, babe," Chris said, kissing his nose. "And we'll continue to do that, okay? For as long as we live."

"For as long as we live," Tom echoed, finally relaxing in his arms and falling limp with sleep, exhausted and safe again.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Just a small note on what's happening in my personal life for the curious or remotely interested: I'm having knee surgery the day after tomorrow, on Thursday, and I might be out of it for a few days to recover and rest up. I hope to update within my usual 10-12 days, but if it goes over by a small bit of time, you know why. I'll get right back to it. I promise. 
> 
> Fun fact: I'm pretty sure this chapter is my longest one to date, out of all of my stories! I had so many things to include, so I hope you enjoy! My beta and I certainly did :)
> 
> As always, beta'd by the lovely and so so sweet, duskyhuedladysatan. I can't thank you enough <3

The rest of the school week passed without further incident. People kept their distance from Chris. He went to class with quiet reserve and ate lunch with Jaime, Danny, Julie and Jason, who for three days attended detention for two hours following his last class. Chris would gather Tom’s coursework before heading home to him and then start all over again in the morning.

They spent their evenings after dinner in the backyard. Sometimes they swam, other times they brought their homework out onto the grass, books open and laptops lit, keyboards clacking under their fingertips.

Sleep was their true time alone. Unchanged in all their time together, they still slept wrapped up in each other, breaths laced, fingers laced, legs laced, laced and laced, the long hours of night.

Tom’s murmurings didn’t cease entirely, nor his small thrashings, but there was a definitive lessening. Chris would wake to frightened cries, muted by the heavy cloak of dreams, and move to immediately close his arms tight around the slim body beside him. Tom, seemingly comforted, would calm, brows furrowed delicately, worry and fear marking his face much younger than his nineteen years.

But upon waking, Chris would search his eyes for memories of the previous night’s terrors, and find little evidence there, save for dimmed light of fatigue, even through Tom’s valiant effort to smile.

“Have you thought more on it, babe?” he asked one morning, both with clumped lashes and messed hair.

“A bit.”

“And?”

“I want to go back. I do. The days are so long here, alone. Me and my thoughts all day. I’ve read through two of the books I brought with me. It won’t be long before I finish the other two. And I’ve started writing,” he said softly, but before Chris could ask about that, he said, “And they’ll talk about me, while I’m there. I know they will. And walking by his classroom, the hallways where he used to look at me. I shudder to think of it.”

“Well his classroom is closed off. We’re in the other side of the building now.”

Tom sighed and picked at a loose thread on Chris’s shirt. “That’s an improvement, I suppose.”

They kissed before Chris departed a little while later. Tom, fingers loose on the screen door before him, watched him drive away.

**

Sometime after midnight, barely awake, they found themselves clawing at each other, lips seeking, insistent. Chris had him cradled against his chest, his hair swinging forward to swipe at Tom’s cheek, mouthing at the tender skin of his neck. Murmurs sweet in their ears, thighs pushing, legs spreading, Tom moaning his name.

They were both hard, erections brushing like white sparks.

A wide palm skimmed the length of his back, pelvis arching. And then fingers under the back of his boxers, cupping, curving over him.

Tom tensed. “Chris—.”

Rumbling in his chest as Chris rolled closer. Shaw’s chest certainly hadn’t done that. “It’s me, babe.”

Fingers spreading, roving up and then down, pressing just over—.

“Chris,” he choked out, heart rate spiking. He clutched at the shoulders before him, knowing them to belong to his boyfriend, warm and solid and familiar. The round muscles so much bigger than his own, that lovely scent Tom had always likened to the sun. The air felt trapped in his lungs, cinched tight, just like his eyes, which even in the dark, he didn’t want to risk opening to see someone other than Chris.

But at his whisper, Chris’s hand disappeared from beneath his boxers, appearing at his cheek.

“Okay, baby, okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Chris.” Tom’s breath hitched. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love you.” Chris enveloped him, surrounding him with only what he’d always known was his alone. “I love you. It’s okay.”

They finished as they had been of late, crotches aligned and Chris rocking above him, both breathing heavy, mouths an inch apart, until with a shocked and fire-licked half-cry that Chris stifled with a hungry kiss, Tom came, slowly and suddenly and blindingly, with only his hands and thighs and feet anchoring the boy above him, so that he wouldn’t float away, never having been real after all.

Because such a thing still frightened Tom, as Chris came just after him, hips pressing down almost painfully, their sticky mess warm between them. The belief that Chris was only a figment of his very active imagination. That Tom would wake up from this terribly convincing day dream and find himself back in Shaw’s classroom last summer, all the students having gone and Shaw walking up the aisle, closer and closer, as Tom sat paralyzed at his desk.

But Chris’s warm weight above him snapped him out of such horrors. His lips, fuller than Tom’s, begged permission from his own, until their tongues twined a long-known dance, both groaning quietly.

Chris made to move off, but Tom clasped at him. “No, stay here. Please. Can you fall asleep here, darling. Like this? On me?”

Peering down at him, Chris hesitated a moment. “I’ll crush you.”

“You won’t. I want to sleep like this. Let me hold you like this.”

And so Chris relaxed against him, heavy and long, tucking his face against Tom’s neck.  Tom’s lungs felt a little tighter, but it was good. It was okay. Chris was over him and this was good, he thought, smiling. His heartbeat was Tom’s own and it was home. Before long, he felt Chris’s steady breaths at his throat, asleep from Tom’s fingers combing through his hair. It lulled Tom, too, as he pressed his cheek to Chris’s temple, wanting this warmth and weight on him always.

Their mess forgotten until morning, Tom eased his legs down to the bed, bracketing Chris’s body, and let sleep take him, remembering that yes, Chris was real, and yes, he was his, and no, no one could take him away.

What seemed like a short while later, he was startled awake by Chris rocking against him again. Still dark, he didn’t know what time it was, but he had the distinct impression that Chris was still asleep. He was moaning over and over, fraught with hurry.

Tom tried lifting his head, but Chris had a hand in his hair, gentle and firm. The tough plaster of his cast ground lightly against Tom’s hairline. “Darling?”

Chris growled quietly and Tom shivered, falling still beneath him. Licking his lips and swallowing, Tom counted his breaths, face hot. And then he widened his legs to accommodate Chris’s movements, focusing on how much he wanted Chris, would _always_ want him. That this was how they loved each other. This was what he knew and craved. That there would be no pain, no fear, no torment, not from Chris.

Just as quick, he was hard again. When Chris tugged at his hair softly, Tom whined low and let his head be turned to the side. Eyes darting over the darkness, he lay wondering, waiting, Chris’s nose bumping along his skin. And then without warning, Chris bit down.

Gasping, Tom arched and Chris groaned, thrusting at him harder. Tom clamped his thighs around the hips pumping against him, and Chris moaned again, fresh warmth bursting between them. It was muffled, but Tom heard Chris cry his release brokenly, quietly, rubbing his stubbled cheek on Tom’s throat. After a long moment, his body stilled with an exhausted tremor and he fell silent.

Eyes watering, Tom lay panting, his erection trapped between their bodies.

“C-Chris,” he whispered, trying to swivel his hips somehow, needing friction. But it was useless. Chris was leaden over him, mute and asleep again. Grunting, Tom lifted with his hips and rolled Chris a few inches to the side, just enough for Tom to reach beneath his boxers and take his cock in hand to rub himself off.

And when he came, mouth pressed into Chris’s shoulder, he sobbed softly, tears bubbling from beneath his lashes, his come trickling between his fingers and onto his thighs. Collapsing back, he caught his breath, realizing dizzily, that it was easier to ignore the pounding dark around them under the haze of orgasm, remembering to convince himself that nothing was lurking there that meant to hurt him, and that maybe he was starting to be ready to have Chris inside him again.

**

In the morning, Chris woke with a confused grunt, still plastered over Tom’s moist body. Both were sweating from the warm sunlight and sticky from their two orgasms.

Rubbing himself languidly through his boxers, Chris looked down, confused. “It just feels like…more or some—.” He glanced up and caught sight of Tom, who still lay on his back, arms thrown up on the pillows, drowsing. “What the fuck…”

Tom creaked an eye open and saw Chris staring at his neck, hand out as if to touch. “Oh my fucking god, what did I do?” he whispered, crawling close. “Babe…”

“What is it?” Tom asked, stroking his neck. And then he felt it. A tiny soreness, and he remembered. “Oh. You bit me.” He frowned. “Is it really noticeable?”

Mouth gaping, Chris stared at him and ignored his second question. “When?!”

Tom smiled. “Last night. You came, too.”

“Too? We…we both came? Again?”

Tom nodded and blinked up at him.

Face softening, Chris snuggled up to him. “Shit, babe. I’m sorry. I humped you in my _sleep_!” He hid his face, embarrassed.

Tom laughed and breathed in the scent of his hair. Sunlight. “Don’t hide, my love. I…really liked it.”

Chris lifted his head, brows drawing together in what could only be cautious hope. He took a deep breath. “Babe, for real though. That is not a good position for us to sleep in. My hormones must have been going haywire all night or something.”

Tom smiled. “Your hormones are always going haywire, puppy.”

Relieved, Chris burrowed against Tom’s chest and sighed. “You’re amazing.”

The sunlight coated their skin a pale gold until Chris’s alarm finally went off.

**

Tom watched Chris drive away later on, feeling a heavier heart for it.

He had a follow-up appointment with his primary physician to check the status of his injuries and concussion.

He hardly felt any more sensitivity to the sun, apart from what felt like the normal amount. Chris often checked his eyes at random, studying his pupils before kissing his forehead with a relieved smile; cataloging the progress his bruises had been making on his skin, whispering their aches away with soft murmurings.

Observing his neck in the mirror before breakfast, he realized Chris had been right about the bite mark when he’d checked it earlier. It was only slightly irritated, a small half circle of teeth marks pink against his skin. Not conspicuous at all. He adjusted his shirt collar and then headed downstairs.

At half past ten in the morning, he and his mother piled into her car.

“Such a lovely day out,” she murmured.

He kept his gaze out the window.

“I talked to Mrs. Stanley across the street, and she said that she thinks there’s a spot opening up at the grocery store for the summer. Maybe you’d like to apply?”

His fingers tightened on his jeans.

“I was thinking of chicken for dinner. Maybe tonight you can stay here instead of at Chris’s house.”

Tears sprang to his eyes and he felt the space in the car shrink horribly.

She was quiet for a few minutes and Tom let his breath out, thinking perhaps she was done.

“You know, maybe—.”

“Stop,” he whispered, closing his eyes, and feeling a burning tear escape. “Please—just stop.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he let his head rest back and closed his eyes briefly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, blinking away his tears. “I’m still…figuring it all out.”

His mother reached across the seats and covered his hand with hers. “Darling. I know it’s difficult for you. This isn’t something that we should simply _know_. I can’t express how proud of you I am. Taking these steps to join the world again, to heal. I can only imagine that’s how it feels. To be apart from everything.” She sighed and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry if you’ve felt pressured. I don’t want you to feel that way. Not after everything.”

He rubbed his face. “I wish I didn’t feel so…off. I almost feel, well, normal with Chris. He’s like an extension of my own body at this point. To be apart from him feels to me like being apart from my home. It doesn’t feel right. If that makes sense,” he finished quietly, a furious blush creeping up his neck.

“I do understand, Tom. Frankly, it surprises me how attached the two of you are with each other. It’s almost…unreal. And a little alarming to me,” she admitted, staring out the windshield.

“It isn’t alarming to me,” he argued. “It’s as natural as the sun. I don’t mean to wax poetic,” he said, shaking his head. “But I don’t have any other way to describe it.”

She laughed as she turned into the hospital parking lot. “Tom, if you are anything, my love, it’s poetic.”

He smiled as he stepped out of the car. Falling into step with him, she slid her arm through his. “I’m so glad I have him,” he said. “I know someone who went through something…similar. And he had no one. I can’t imagine what that was like. And I try sometimes. To imagine what it would be like. And the feeling is so terrible, I have to stop.”

Her brow puckered and Tom feared she would ask who the person was, but instead she said, “Yes, darling. We are very happy and grateful that you have each other, too. And perhaps it’s better not to give yourself further reason to feel anxiety or nervousness. It’s probably best not to fall into imaginings about something worse than what happened to you. I’m very sorry about your friend,” she finished quietly.

“Thank you,” he said. “He’s very strong. He’s doing alright.”

“As are you, my darling.”

They took the elevator to the third floor. Tom tried blinking his eyes against the tiny flashbacks of the night he’d been brought here. He hadn’t woken until after his evaluation, the room cold and dark, his parents two figures above him, like worried pheasants at the mangled nest of their young. The bright lights, the hurried steps echoing in the halls, the _smell_ , all of it was like an assault on his senses.

The nurse had him change into an open-back hospital gown and left them with word that the doctor would be right in.

Dr. James Stone, an older gentleman with a serious and observant manner, had been treating Tom since he was an infant. He walked in and shook Diana’s hand first, and then Tom’s, apologizing for the wait.

“I’m very sorry to hear of what’s happened, Tom,” he said in that sandpaper rasp that Tom had found quite scary as a child, but that now felt like a familiar comfort in a sea of unknowns. “We’re going to check your concussion and the state of your other injuries. We’ll also prescribe more medication, if you feel you need it. Do you have any questions for me?”

Tom did, and he realized quite suddenly because of those questions, that he should have asked Chris to come with him. He cleared his throat, clasping his hands tightly in his lap. “Will…um, what will be included in the physical examination?”

Dr. Stone sat on the rolling chair, crossing his legs and holding his clipboard against his stomach.

“Reaction to light stimulation, checking the cut on your head and your various other bruises. And finally an anal and rectal exam,” he finished quietly, watching Tom closely.

Tom felt the blood drain from his face and he squeezed his knees together.

“Is that necessary?” he mumbled.

“It is to make sure there isn’t any lingering damage to the area and that you’ve healed properly. With the amount of time that’s passed, you should be in good shape and it’ll only be a quick peek.”

The examination for his concussion and bruises was easy enough. Tom’s pupils reacted well to the penlight, and his stitches would fall out any day now. His ribs were still bruised, as was right cheekbone, but the coloring was significantly less alarming than at the beginning.

Tom noticed Dr. Stone’s eyes flash to his when he examined his neck, and Tom blushed as he realized he must have noticed the bite mark. The doctor cleared his throat and then moved on to his eye, shining a light into it once more.

“The irritation is nearly gone. Still the tiniest bit of pink. Just your veins slightly engorged,” Dr. Stone explained easily, clicking the penlight off. “Nothing to worry about. Another week and your eye will be clear. Now, would you like for your mother to wait outside while I complete the next examination?”

Tom slid his gaze to his mother’s and she smiled kindly.

She’d seen so much of him already. He’d been half-nude when she and Chris had found him unconscious on the living room floor, and she’d helped him bathe at the hospital. But this felt different. This felt deliberate. He was so very much awake this time, whereas before he had been on the cusp of unconsciousness.

But no one, no _man,_ had touched him apart from Chris since that night. And he would have to turn over for Dr. Stone and part himself willingly. While he would be comforted by her presence, he didn’t think he wanted his mother to see that.

He nodded silently and she stepped out.

The doctor leaned over to the sink in the corner of the room and started scrubbing his hands.

“Before we begin, Tom. May I ask if you’re sexually active?”

Tom gulped and squeezed his hands together. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m pretty sure you saw the bite?”

The doctor smiled, rinsing the suds and shaking his hands in the sink. “An untrained eye would have missed it. I expect you’re not exactly keen on your mother seeing it.” Tom blushed again. Drying his hands with two paper towels, Dr. Stone turned to him. “Steady partner?”

Tom nodded. “My only partner,” he whispered.

“Have you had sex since your assault?”

In the back of his mind, Tom appreciated that Dr. Stone hadn’t beat around the bush by calling it ‘the incident’ or ‘the event’. He had been assaulted. There was no other way to explain it.

He took a deep breath. “Define ‘sex’.”

“Penetrative intercourse.”

He winced and looked down. “No.”

“It’s important that you feel safe with your partner. Especially after an experience like the one you had, it’s important that your partner doesn’t pressure you to have sex too soon and before you’re ready.”

“He doesn’t pressure me,” he insisted softly, meeting the doctor’s eyes.

“Good. Because it’s easy to be manipulated into—.”

“He doesn’t manipulate me. Or abuse me. He’s the one who ran to save me. He saved me from something worse. Something heinous.” He quieted and stared at his hands, at the nails painted blue and beginning to chip.

“I just want to make sure of that, Tom. I’ve been your physician since you were a baby, and I don’t like that you were hurt.”

Tom nodded. “Thank you.”

Dr. Stone slipped gloves on and then paused. “How would you be most comfortable for this?”

Tom knew what he meant, and considering that Shaw had had Tom pressed face first into the carpet, he pointed to the bed he was sitting on. “Can I lie back?”

“Of course, we’ll just need you to scoot all the way to the edge of the table.” Sitting on his rolling chair, the doctor propped up the leg stirrups and warned Tom that they would be cold on his heels.

Pulse racing, sweat sprouting over his face like tiny explosions that numbered the same as the many thoughts pounding his mind, Tom eased back until his shoulder blades touched the cushioned surface, the paper crinkling beneath him.

“Okay, I’m going to take each of your feet now and place them in the stirrups. Please let me know if you need to stop, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, eyes wide on the ceiling.

Warm, dry hands gripped each ankle, lifting his legs and placing each foot in the stirrup. He was right, they were cold. His knees were pressed together in a final, meek effort to protect that which was vulnerable, and most private.

“Okay, just a little further here…”

Tom adjusted until his backside was at the edge of the table and then the doctor angled his legs apart.

Tom gripped the plastic edges, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut. Jaws clenched, his teeth ground together, and he forced himself to breathe steadily through his nose.

_Is that my puppy?_

Tom gasped quietly, but felt relief bloom in his chest at the sound of Chris’s voice echoing in his head.

_It is my puppy! It is, it is! I knew it was you, babe._ A nuzzle on his cheek and Tom turned his face to the side, a hot tear slipping past his ear.

Dr. Stone’s hands were gentle on his inner thighs, explaining in his calm voice the recital his granddaughter’s dance class had had over the weekend, talking about the color of their dresses and how her shoes matched perfectly with the satin costume.

His thumbs were near his entrance, pulling his skin to the sides to see better. Tom tensed, willing Chris’s voice to come back to him.

_Me? I would time travel. Somewhere exotic. Where the ocean roared wild, no humans anywhere. Would you come with me?_

Tom had said yes, because the opposite was unthinkable.

_But ah, who am I kidding? I would go anywhere with you, babe._ And then another nuzzle on his cheek, because Chris loved to do that, rub their cheeks together and purr at him.

“Okay, Tom. All done.”

Tom’s eyes snapped open. The bright ceiling lights glared and he squinted.

Dr. Stone was lowering his legs from the stirrups, smiling at him over the tent of the blanket covering his knees. “You’re all done.”

Tom sat up gingerly and gathered the blanket over his lap.

“There is still very slight, slight tearing,” Dr. Stone was saying, disposing of his gloves in the trash bin. “But you’re otherwise fully healed. Any trouble using the bathroom?”

Tom shook his head.

“Good. Another few weeks and the last of the tearing will be gone.”

“Will…um, when will it be okay to have sex again?”

Dr. Stone sat on the chair and made a note on his clipboard. “Well, you could now. But with very careful preparation and lubrication. Stretching,” he added, signing his name at the bottom of the page. Tucking his pen away, he looked at Tom again. “And to be very, very careful. Keep it slow. At least at first. And most importantly, only if you’re ready.”

Tom’s face was a permanent shade of red by this point and he nodded, thanking the doctor quietly.

“Please, call me with any questions or if you need more prescriptions. But otherwise, I’ll see you in a year for your annual check-up, okay?”

They shook hands and the doctor left Tom to change into his clothes again.

Back home, Tom waited anxiously for four o’clock to roll around, and when it finally did, he hurried down the stairs and stood at the door, listening intently for the approach of a car. When Chris parked out on the curb, Tom threw the door open and ran down the walk.

Chris was climbing out of the driver’s seat and stopped dead when he saw Tom. “Babe, what’s wro—.”           

Tom collided against him, mouths crashing, Chris taking the brunt of their fall against the car door.

Hands at his head, Tom pulled Chris to him, lips opening, smiling when Chris moaned and dropped his backpack to the ground, wrapping Tom in his arms and returning the kiss with full force after his surprise melted away. He flipped them so that Tom was pressed up against the car, Chris keeping their bellies flush together.

When they drew back, both were breathing hard, squinting in the late afternoon light.

“I love you,” Tom whispered, tucking Chris’s hair behind his ears. “I love you and I want to go back. Tomorrow. Do you think I can do it?”

Chris studied him, eyes darting over his face. “I love you too, babe. And I think you can do anything you want. But are you ready?”

“I think so…I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever know when I’m supposed to be ready. But I would like to try. I miss you so much during the day. I miss Jason and Julie. And Jaime and Daniel.” He laughed quietly. “I miss my classes. I don’t want to be locked away in my house. And maybe this is all bravado talking and maybe tomorrow I’ll cower at the door. But I know I feel good today. My body is healing. I need to help my heart and mind do the same.”

Chris sighed and cradled his face. “You’re amazing. Have I told you that today?”

Tom smiled. “You certainly have not.”

“Well, you are. You’re the very moon.”

“And that makes you my garish sun,” he said, pulling at Chris’s ears playfully. “Come inside and eat with me, my sun.”

“God, yes. You are a man after my own heart.”

Tom laughed and pulled him up the drive.

**

And so the next morning, Tom rose with Chris when the alarm went off. Quietly, they brushed their teeth, dressed, and ambled down the stairs. After eating matching bowls of cereal and swallowing back the vitamins Chris’s mother had left for them on the counter, they climbed into Chris’s car and drove out of their neighborhood.

Hands linked between them, Tom stared out the window, his backpack clutched to his chest, completed homework and readings zipped inside.

The parking lot was filling when Chris pulled in ten minutes later.

"I'll be with you as much as I can, babe,” Chris said softly, cutting the ignition and turning to Tom. “But you need to be prepared for a few things. People are going to stare. They are going to whisper, and they aren't going to be very good at hiding it. If you need to step away, do it. The counselor will be available to you if you need her. And so will I. Come find me."

Tom nodded, taking a deep breath, steeling himself.

Chris skimmed a finger down Tom’s cheek, at the bruise lingering there. “They’re going to stare at this. Don’t let it bother you. Okay?”

Another nod. Tom licked his lips to stay calm.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

They met at the rear of the car and Chris tossed an arm around Tom’s shoulders. Tom kept one of his textbooks held tight to his chest, arms crossed over it.

He looked at no one. He kept his gaze on the pavement before him, but he could already sense it. The halting conversations, the stilled motions, the feel of eyes on him.

“Easy,” Chris murmured, as he opened the front door and led Tom inside.

The hallways were a cacophony of noises. Shouts and lockers slamming, laughter and the general roll of hundreds of voices.

Tom inhaled and squared his shoulders, following Chris as he pushed through the crowd toward their lockers.

Braving a look up, Tom caught the stares of multiple people and quickly lowered his eyes again, turning into Chris slightly.

Danny and Jaime showed up as Tom was depositing binders in his locker. They greeted him quietly and then both hugged him after a small hesitation. Tom returned their quick embraces, thanking them.

“There’s an evil essay due on Friday, Tom,” Jaime said, shaking his head. “I can help you with it, if you’d like it.”

Tom smiled and took Chris’s hand. “I already finished it,” he admitted sheepishly.

Jaime’s mouth fell open and Danny let his head fall back, laughing openly. He skirted away when Jaime swiped at his arm to shut up.

“It’s great to have you back, Tom,” Danny said, touching his shoulder softly.

“Definitely, let us know if you need anything, okay? And I mean that. Anything at all.”

“Thanks, guys,” Chris said.

Watching their retreating figures, Tom frowned. “Did he mean to go to them if I needed someone beat up?”

Chris chuckled. “Pretty much.”

“Hmm. Good to know.”

The school had been notified by Tom’s mother that he would be returning, so he and Chris headed to the principal’s office.

Principal Williams greeted Tom warmly, shaking his hand ushering them into his office. It was brief, but he wanted to make sure Tom felt comfortable returning to school and that he and the rest of the faculty and staff would be available should he feel the need to talk.

“Our counselor, Ms. Flores, is simply wonderful. Her door is always open, as is mine. Please do not hesitate to come here should you have any concerns, especially if it’s with another student. Tension has been a bit high lately, and it can lead people to speak and act as they normally wouldn’t.”

“Thank you,” Tom whispered. “I hope there won’t be any conflict. I’d just like to finish the school year with Chris.”

“There’s already been one fight,” Chris said, and Principle Williams’ eyes cut to his. “What’s to say another won’t break out, this time with Tom as the target?”

“I certainly don’t expect there to be any. But if in case, please let us know.”

“Would it be possible for his and my classes to be synced? If I were to be put in his classes, or vice versa?”

“It’s something we can definitely consider, Chris. But it takes so much more than just switching you over. There are roster changes and work load differentiation between the teachers, something even as simple sounding as seating arrangements.”

“But can it be done? If I felt more comfortable with that?” Tom asked, looking the principal in the eye.

The principal closed his eyes and nodded. “Of course. I’m just making it clear that it might be a few days before that can happen. Now, the faculty has been informed of the situation. Please know that if you were to ever need a few minutes alone before or after class, you can take that time to yourself and you won’t be reprimanded for it.”

He walked them out shortly after and Chris and Tom headed to their first period, math for Chris and English for Tom.

The halls were empty of students, already piled into their classrooms.

Standing outside the door, Chris took Tom’s shoulders. “Just walk in and head to the first open seat. Jason’s in this one, right?” Tom nodded. “Good. Maybe sit by him. Keep your eyes ahead and take your notes. I’ll be waiting when you get out.”

“Okay,” Tom said, nodding again, probably to convince himself. “Okay. I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you.”

They kissed quickly and then Tom slipped through the door.

**

The lack of Chris was immediate. So were the twenty pairs of eyes that turned to look at him.

“Tom,” his teacher greeted him. “I was told you were going to be a little late. Absolutely fine. Take any seat. We were just going over some final reminders about the essay due on Friday, which will be about…” he said, engaging the rest of the class again, giving Tom an out to quietly move toward the back of the room.

There were a few mumbled answers as Tom made his way to Jason and sank into the seat beside him.

“Hey,” Jason whispered.

Tom smiled. “Hey.”

He brought out his binder and pen, fully aware of a few people turning back to look at him, whispers being shot across the rows.

Jason sneered at the nearest person. “Can I help you?”

The kid turned away quickly.

Jason winked at Tom and went back to his notes.        

They spent their lunch break with Jason and Julie, who petted Tom’s hair and gave him tight, spontaneous hugs, her eyes always filling with tears by the time she drew back. They, along with Jaime and Danny, stole a table near the back of the cafeteria and ate and conversed easily, binders and books spread before them. Chris kissed Tom’s shoulder, asking quietly if he was okay.

Tom nodded.

“Liar,” Chris murmured, rubbing his back softly.

Tom sighed. “The staring is a bit difficult to ignore,” he admitted. “As are the whispers. But no one’s said anything directly to me, apart from you guys. But I can’t help but know that everyone else wonders. I know they’re talking about it amongst themselves. It’s this persistent pressure, and I feel it slowly building as the day wears on.”

Rubbing at his eyes, he realized how tired he was, his nerves spiked, his anxiety forming itself over his shoulders and settling as a heavy fatigue. He really didn’t know in which way to anticipate how the day would turn out. Frankly, he was doing okay, but he would definitely prefer if no one spoke to him about it.

“Day’s almost over, babe. You’re mine for the rest of it.”

Tom smiled. “I’m yours now, too.”

“I like hearing that.”

“Stop whispering, you two. Let Tom help me with this paper, Hems,” Jaime said, rubbing at his forehead, stressed.

Tom laughed and then scooted over, leaning over Jaime’s paper.

It all went fine until after lunch, when Tom parted from Chris again for his afternoon classes.

In his fourth period physics class, Tom sat at a lab table alone, jotting down notes on his worksheet. He’d been able to keep up with the chapter at home but something wasn’t working correctly in his formula.

Tom glanced up, but the teacher was squatting by a desk in the front, explaining something to another student.

Peeking around, he saw that everyone seemed absorbed in their work. The pair sitting at the lab table before him, a boy bobbing his head to imaginary music and a girl with long hair plaited down her back, were bent over their work, pencils scratching quickly, fingers tapping quietly on their calculators before returning to their worksheets. The girl's eyeglass stems peeked behind her right ear, tangled in strands of blonde hair, thick and beautiful, just like Christopher's.

Swallowing, he took a chance and reached across the desk, tapping her shoulder twice with his pencil.

“Excuse me, um, do you know the equation for—.”

The rest of his words died on his tongue when she tossed him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me. Whore.” She hunched back over her work and Tom was left with his hand in the air, mouth hanging open.

Near him, someone sniggered and he distinctly heard 'slut' whispered before the teacher rose to his feet at the front of the class and cast his gaze over them.

Everyone fell silent, faces down.

Heart pounding in his temples, Tom felt his face on fire. Bile rose in his throat and he exhaled shakily, tears blurring his vision quickly.

His teacher's eyes fell on him, and he frowned, taking a step forward. "Tom?"

Heads swiveled in his direction and Tom sat back, gulping past the lump trying to choke him.

He stood fast, chair skidding a few inches out from under him. Slamming his notebook shut, he grabbed his backpack and spun, hurrying from the room. He heard the teacher call his name again but he was already running down the hall, the door closing behind him with a bang.

Chris was in English during that hour, so Tom doubled back down two more hallways, his sobs pouring out, more broken with each step he took. Mopping at his face with the back of his hand, he turned the last corner and then spotted the doorway to Chris’s class, closed as all the others were. Stopping just before colliding with the hard wood, he peered in through the rectangular window and searched the faces inside, spotting Chris in the far back row.

"Chris," he whispered, wiping at his eyes angrily to clear his vision. Pressing a palm against the glass, he refrained from banging on it to get his attention. "Please," he whispered, breathing hitched. "Baby, please look up."

**

Chris doodled circles within circles on the corner of his page. The class was participating in a discussion about the modern virtues of Shakespeare and what influences he still had on contemporary fiction. He blinked wearily as the teacher led the discussion with another question, and then chanced a look up at the clock to see how much time was left.

Movement at the door caught his attention and he sat up. A face, moon-white and tear-streaked, peered in through the window, eyes wide on his.

_Tom_.

Chris jumped to his feet and skirted around the arrangement of desks, heart in a twist.

"Chris? Class isn't over—."

Ignoring his teacher, Chris ran to the door and pushed through it. Tom waited for him, hands clenched tight.

"Baby," Chris whispered, bracketing Tom's face with his hands, wiping at the still-flowing tears. "It's okay. I'm here."

Tom collapsed against him and shook harder, sobbing freely.

Holding him, Chris murmured and rubbed his back.

At the door, his English teacher stood frozen, clearly having meant to drag him back into class. But one look at them, and he nodded tersely, leaving them in the hall and closing the door softly.

"What happened? Baby, what is it?"

"Take me home, Chris. Please, take me home."

"Anything, babe. Anything. Danny's in this class with me. I'll text him so he can grab my stuff for me."

He took Tom's hand and they hurried to the nearest exit. Once inside the car, Chris turned to him and asked him what happened.

Brushing away his stubborn tears, Tom recounted what the girl had told him in his physics class, and the laughter and other whispers that had followed.

"Fucking shit," Chris growled, eyes focused outside the windshield. "Who was it?"

Tom turned sharp eyes on him. "What are you going to do? Punch a girl?"

Jaw clenched, Chris glanced away, face red.

"I don't want you angry, Chris. I just needed to get out of there." He sighed. "I'm so stupid."

"No! Stop that. You aren't. I'm so proud of you for facing your fear and coming here today, Tom. That took strength and courage."

Tom wiped at his face with the bottom of his shirt and laughed into it. "I didn't even last the whole day."

"Yeah, but think about it, babe," Chris said, scooting closer. "You nearly made it to the end. You only had drama left. And had it not been for the stupid comments of a couple of people, you would have made it with no problem."

"Jason will worry," Tom sighed, resting his head back.

"I'll text him too," Chris said, pulling the keys from his pocket and starting the engine. He took Tom's hand. They drove home quietly.

Echoes of what the girl had said, the names he'd been called, the laughter, the whispers, kept floating in his mind, drawing a recurring swell of tears over his eyes.

_I'm not a slut. I'm not a_ whore _._

His teeth gritted and he sniffed, wishing these damn tears away.

"It's okay, babe. Don't think on it."

"I can't help it," he whispered.

No one was home when Chris pulled up to his house. Tom, backpack in hand, followed him into the cool, shaded living room.

Chris made them macaroni and cheese and they took their bowls out to the pool and sat in the shade of the house, jeans rolled up and legs submerged in the turquoise water.

After that, they washed the dishes and then headed upstairs.

Tom was texting with Jason when Danny stopped by to drop off Chris's backpack. Standing at the bedroom window, Tom watched the two of them talk down by the driveway, Chris no doubt explaining why they left school early. Danny stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head, and then they hugged fast, leaving just as quickly as he’d arrived.

"What did he say?" Tom asked when Chris returned.

"And I quote: 'stupid fuckers'."

"Good," Tom said, smiling.

"Come on, puppy," Chris said, dragging his backpack to the bed. "Homework time."

**

Searching his closet for a different pair of shoes that night, Chris stumbled upon the duffel bag that he and Tom had been planning on taking to the beach, still packed and sealed. Unsure how it had come to be in his closet, Chris pulled it out and unzipped the top, gasping quietly at what lay just beneath. Stacked side by side over folded clothes and sunscreen and two towels, were his and Tom’s books of poetry, both by Neruda.

He flipped through the brittle pages, eyes catching on lines that he would have no problem using to describe Tom.

And so as Tom, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, was running a hand through his curls still moist from their shower, Chris came to sit beside him, fingers cradling the two books in his lap.

Noticing how much his right eye had been cleared of its pink hue after another week of healing, Chris watched as Tom did a double take, a slow smile forming on his face.

“I know we’re not in a log cabin in the mountains and it’s not winter with our roaring fire and there aren’t any cutting winds and piles of snow, but today was rough. And I wanted to know if I could read to you a bit. If you’d like,” he finished quietly, scooting closer.

Tom’s eyes met his, two lovely spots of color rising on his cheeks. “I would like that very much.”

They settled against the headboard, and with only the desk lamp illuminating the pages, Chris cracked opened _Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair._

“Shall we pick at random?”

Tom smiled. “Let me skim my finger down the page and you read what I’ve chosen.”

Pointing with his blue-nailed finger, Tom trailed up and down, eyes closed, until finally settling near the top. Chris cleared his throat.

“’I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.’”

Giving a small smile, Tom blinked up at him.

“Rather accurate, isn’t it,” Chris murmured, letting his eyes drift over the lovely blush spreading over Tom’s face. “I _do_ want to make you bloom.”

“Another,” Tom whispered, taking Chris’s hand.

And so Chris flipped through the pages and Tom danced a finger over the words, words which Chris spoke quietly and reverently, for the subject of his own poem was sitting beside him, made real.

_A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body/I go so far as to think that you own the universe_.

Tom hummed, pleased, and Chris read on.

_The great roots of night grow suddenly from your soul, and the things that hide in you come out again, so that a blue and pallid people, your newly born, take nourishment._

Tom's arm slid around his waist and he snuggled closer.

_But my words become stained with your love. You occupy everything, you occupy everything._

A warm, smooth foot slipped along the top of his shin and Chris's chest tightened.

_You are like nobody since I love you/Let me spread you out among yellow garlands._

"I love you, too," Tom murmured, almost sleepily, and Chris gave his forehead a quick peck.

_Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets to that sea that beats on your marine eyes. The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you._

Chris read for almost an hour, both sliding down the headboard to lie on their backs, the book propped open on his chest.

The last quote Tom chose was: _Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away?_

“I felt a bit like that these last few days at school without you. I felt something missing.” Chris sighed and flipped the page.

Moving closer, Tom rested his head on Chris’s shoulder. “You are not alone in feeling that way, my dearest love.”

They lay silent, both feeling the tiny shift in the air around them. Tom needed only to slowly rotate his hips toward Chris before Chris was letting the book fall away and meeting Tom’s mouth in a hard kiss.

Sinking lower, Chris moved his lips over Tom’s, tongue curling into his mouth, the feel and strength of the Tom’s own tongue vying for position enough to send a wave of affection and love through his bones, like the gentle and loving tilt of a person’s voice in song. He could kiss Tom like this forever. The solid warmth of his limbs beneath him, the small moans he gave, the way his legs parted slowly, chest arching up, fitting himself to the contours of Chris’s body.

Fingers slid into his hair and pulled gently, lips strayed over his face and Chris felt his skin alight with feeling, with a buzzing and a sound like the crashing of waves.

He blinked and broke away from Tom, staring down at him as he lay there, blinking dazedly, a full blush rising along his cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Tom cast his gaze down, blush darkening.

“So beautiful. And precious to me. And mine. I love you,” Chris said, kissing him fast, again and again. “I love you so much.”

“Chris,” Tom murmured, wrapping his arms around his neck and tugging.

They rolled, Tom lying on Chris's stomach, fingers in each other's hair, curling and gripping closer. Tom ground his hips down and then gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

Chris held still, knowing that Tom felt his erection, could feel the heat of him rising.

Eyes still closed, Tom circled Chris’s wrists and held them above his head, moving his hips again, in turn allowing Chris to feel his cock, half-hard.

Tom shifted to straddle Chris, knees bracketing his ribcage, and then continued rolling his hips, fingers tightening on his wrists. He smiled small, lovely, and so shy, that Chris groaned and lifted his head for a kiss. Tom complied, bending low and slotting their mouths together gently.

“Oh, babe,” Chris whispered, dropping his head down and squeezing his eyes shut. Tom’s cock was hard and hot next to his own and Chris’s mouth suddenly watered, wanting to taste him on his tongue like he hadn’t in weeks. He wanted the wet slick of his cock, the bitter salt and gush of its warmth. Chris groaned again and thrust his hips up. Tom smiled sweetly from above.

“My darling,” he murmured and then leaned to the side, tugging at Chris until he was over him again, kissing and breathing together, hands wandering and clutching and scratching to mark.

“Babe,” Chris gasped, trembling. “We should stop. I—I don’t think I can take this and I don’t want you to—.”

“I want to,” Tom whispered, curling his hands behind Chris’s biceps, not wanting him to go. “I want to. I do. I…” He swallowed and cupped Chris’s cheek. “I think I’m ready.”

Licking his lips, Chris stared down at him, at the stripe of red on Tom’s forehead, the mottled green clouding over his cheekbone. And he looked at the glaze of want in Tom’s eyes, the small breaths, the tight way he held his shoulders off the bed, as if ready to follow Chris however he moved.

“Are you sure?” he asked gruffly, thigh inching out to spread Tom wider.

Tom nodded. “Yes, but l-let’s start slow. Please.”

Relief flooding through him, Chris sagged against him, embracing him tightly. “Of course, my love. Of course, anything for you.”

After locking the door and grabbing the lube and condoms, there was only the simple matter of removing their clothes. Easily done, as they’d been naked around each other about as often as they’d been clothed.

Hands fluttering on the blanket, Tom watched as Chris knelt by his side and uncapped the lube bottle.

Over the last three months, they had bought new bottles of lube and more condoms, finding they were burning through them faster than they thought possible. But when making love every available moment away from prying eyes, not excluding their bedrooms and the occasional bathroom or car make out session, their supply began to dwindle.

Chris poured a generous amount in one palm, letting Tom take in every move he made. And he moved deliberately, and as calmly as he could, despite his heart hammering in his chest. He knew Tom needed to feel safe and protected and absolutely _sure_ about this. He didn't want him startled in any way.

"Come here, baby," he murmured, bending at the waist and kissing Tom's lips softly. The wide-eyed look on his boyfriend's face immediately melted away and he let himself fall into Chris's kiss. He nudged his forehead along Tom's jaw playfully, licking at his ear until Tom trembled. "I won't hurt you, babe. You know that."

Tom nodded fast, angling his neck out to give Chris more room.

"We'll take this slow, okay?"

Another nod. "Yes."

"You want me to stop, you tell me, Tom."

"Yes. Darling, I will."

More confident now, Chris pressed himself along Tom's side, staying above him on his elbow, his hand cupped full of lube sinking low between Tom's legs, ignoring his weeping cock entirely.

Tom tensed and snapped his legs closed, trapping Chris's hand between his slim thighs.

Chris waited, breathing along his temple, kissing the soft skin there. Tom whined low and turned his face into Chris's neck, breath stilled in his chest.

Murmuring softly, Chris offered himself to Tom, letting Tom hear him, smell him, feel him. This wasn't someone Tom wouldn't know or be afraid of. This was Chris, and he was more his own than anyone else's.

Very slowly, Tom's legs eased open and Chris continued, turning his wrist and letting the glob of lube fall along Tom's perineum where it seeped further down over his entrance.

"Are you okay?" Chris whispered.

A nervous swallow and then quick nod. "Yes."

"It's just me, baby," he said softly, letting his fingers skim over his hole a few times, testing Tom's reactions. Tom was tense all over, his body held tight as a wire, chest jumping with tiny breaths. Chris paused. He would never get Tom stretched enough this way.

"Feel me, baby. Feel how it makes _you_ feel. Let it relax you and calm you. I won't hurt you, babe."

A terse head shake and sprouting tears. "I know," he breathed. "I know you won't. But I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of it anyway."

"What, Tom? What are you afraid of?"

"The pain."

"No, baby. Not this time. Not ever again. We'll always take care to prepare you. Because you deserve only the best of this pleasure. You remember it, don't you, babe? The pleasure? You remember how it felt to have me inside you? Tell me."

Lashes fluttering closed. "I do remember, Christopher. I remember all the time. The strength of you. How full of you I felt. How I couldn't get enough."

A purr along Tom's neck had him grinning, and his hips undulated into Chris's hand. "What else, babe?"

"Your weight. I love your weight on me. The feel of your sweat. Your--." He broke off, eyes springing open with a gasp as Chris sank his first finger in, moving it slowly.

"Tell me," Chris urged him. "My what, babe?"

"Your..." he swallowed and fixed his gaze on Chris, wide and brimming. "Your hair. The way it—it tickles my face, brushes along my cheek. And, and..."

His eyes squeezed when Chris tried for a second finger, stalling until Tom nodded okay. He twisted his wrist again, stretching him gently, pumping his arm slowly. And how Tom trembled, how he clasped at Chris, and whispered for him to keep going, please.

They lay wrapped together, long minutes passing unnoticed, one of Tom's legs thrown over Chris's hips, the other spread wide, until he was loose and wet enough. Chris mouthed at Tom's neck, steepling four fingers into him, pumping an even beat.

"C-Chris, d-darling—."

Already anticipating what Tom wanted, Chris rolled between his legs, both moaning when their cocks brushed.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, my love. Yes."

Chris reached to the side for the condom packet, when Tom snatched his wrist.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't want you to use that. I want you. Just you." He licked his lips. "I've been, I mean. You know I dream about him, Chris, about what happened. And I wake up feeling...disgusting and—."

"No," Chris growled, grasping Tom's head and kissing his cheeks all over. "No, you're not."

"It's how I _feel_ , Chris. And I'm tired of feeling like that. I want to feel you. I want to wake up remembering your touch, I want your touch on me, Chris. I want you. To take him away. To get rid of him off my skin. Please. I want to be immersed in _you_ again. In your scent. Your marks. I want them back on me. Those lovely bruises you would leave, that were yours alone, the ones I loved to touch and see and feel. Please. No condom, darling. And hold me tight."

There was a small moment between them, measured in a single heartbeat, a frozen breath, where there lacked not a single misunderstanding, a single doubt, a single reason to hesitate.                  

Chris held himself above Tom, and whispered, "Okay, babe."

And so with almost worshipful reverence, Chris took himself in hand and lowered his hips. Tom widened his legs and then took a deep breath, gripping Chris's forearm, the other curled in the sheets.

"Easy," Chris murmured, head bowed, watching as the tip of his cock pressed to Tom's entrance. Tom whined and Chris snapped his head up, brows drawn together in worry. "I've got you, babe. Breathe, it's okay."

Tom's huffed out a short breath and leaned up for a kiss, which Chris gave readily, tongues brushing before Tom broke away with a small cry as the wide head of Chris's cock slipped past the tight circle of muscle.

"Shh, baby... _fuck_ you're gorgeous," Chris groaned, quickly taking Tom's head in both hands and kissing him softly.

He kept his hips at a steady angle, pushing in further, letting Tom adjust to the stretch.

The heat, the texture, the entire feel of Tom was different without a condom, Chris marveled. This skin on skin contact had him feeling dizzy with disbelief. It was so much smoother and more...natural. It felt so right, and he had to stop himself from thrusting in hard, to get deeper, as deep as possible.

"Are--are you...okay, baby?" he grimaced, hips vibrating.

Panting, Tom nodded, cheeks flushed, skin moist from sweat and open-mouthed kisses.

"Keep going...Christopher. Keep going. You--you feel amazing. Better than I ever imagined. I can feel your heart,” he breathed, and then gasped when Chris bottomed out, feeling thickest at the root.

“Wait,” he whispered, arching his back slightly and wrapping his legs behind Chris’s thighs. “Wait, let me just…feel you. Just a moment…darling.”

He breathed in through his nose and shut his eyes slowly. Chris felt huge inside him, his cock beating with an urgency that was hard to detect with a condom. Feeling stuffed, Tom smiled at the pulsing deep and pleasant inside him, at all of Christopher with nothing in between.                    "You feel so...so _hot_ , darling. The condoms have been hiding you from me." Blinking his eyes open, he looked up at Chris and then very carefully, with a tiny flinch, he squeezed his lower muscles.

Chris’s eyes widened and he groaned loudly, falling forward onto Tom, catching himself at the last second.

“Fuck!” he choked, and Tom held his face tenderly, clenching his muscles one more time. Chris winced and visibly trembled. “Tom…god… _dammit._ ”

Tom smiled and cradled Chris’s head on his chest, releasing his muscles slowly.

 When he started a gentle rocking motion, Chris gritted his teeth and willed himself not to come too soon. He wanted this to be only about Tom and what he needed.

And right now, fingers clawing at his lower back, lips parting for his tongue, hips circling up to meet his own, it felt like Tom needed more of Chris.

Just like their very first time making love, Chris gathered Tom close to his chest, wrapping his long arms around the back of Tom’s neck and shoulders, and cuddled him as he thrust deep, sinking to the root and out to the tip, pushing in all over again.

Tom rocked steadily beneath Chris, face heating as his smile slowly faded. Eyes slit, distant even, he was engulfed in the urge to draw back, to hide from the force above him, pushing and becoming stronger with every second. He swallowed and licked his lips, focusing on Chris, roaming his hands over Chris’s head and chest, trying to draw himself out of his mind, where rough fingers and a cruel voice lingered. But still the emotion was too great, and Tom felt his composure breaking.

Studying him, Chris's heart seized in panic when a tear slipped from Tom’s eye, disappearing into his curls. And then long, thin fingers curled painfully into the meat of his arm, Tom stiffening beneath him. Turning away, his face crumpled and more tears gushed over the bridge of his nose.

Eyes shut tight, Tom seemed to be withdrawing from him suddenly, his upper body going tight with tension, something playing out in his mind that Chris knew had no right to be there, had no right to kill Tom’s enjoyment of this, the pinnacle of all they felt for each other.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning their foreheads together. Tom blinked his eyes open and Chris gazed down, brows furrowing with worry, whispering his name, heavy with longing. “Baby, come back to me, don’t go away." He gazed into him, at the tear-soaked lashes heavy and spiked, at his parted mouth red and plump, and his cheeks, sharp and rose-petal pink.

“I love you,” he sighed, and felt his own eyes fill, a salty drop splashing on Tom's cheek.

Tom inhaled shakily, face breaking open in emotion. "I love you, too, Chris." He reached up and held Chris to him, wrapping his legs around his waist and lifting to meet Chris's thrusts.

Breathing at his ear, Chris licked at his earlobe, sucking the tender nub gently, watching as Tom's skin sprouted in chills. Teeth scraping a soft line down the long column of Tom's neck, Chris settled his mouth over the sensitive skin, and nipped playfully.

Their moans filled the tiny space in his room where they lay bucking against each other, the dark night hidden away by his curtains, only his desk lamp casting their rolling shadows against the wall.

Tom was a writhing bundle in his arms, breaths jumping fast, crying out with every plunge into his body. Chris was immensely glad his parents weren’t home, because he wouldn’t want to stifle the noises Tom was making, noises Chris had dreamt about of late. He was fairly confident that even if his parents had been home, he wouldn’t have quieted Tom, not for anything in the world, not when he was finally trusting the world again, opening up to reveal his most secret, private, intimate self to Chris, who loved him more than anything.

But it wasn’t until Chris slid lower on his knees to change the angle that Tom screamed Chris’s name the loudest, ended with a broken, grateful sob.

Chris grinned and kept his pace set just there, cradling Tom’s neck with one hand and planting the other wide on his ribcage for balance.

“Darling,” Tom whispered, breathless.

“Yeah, babe,” Chris grunted, focusing on not coming.

Lifting a hand, Tom brushed back Chris’s hair, smiling when it sprang free again with Chris’s movement.

“You are my heart. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Chris gasped, his belly tightening with the need to release. “And you are mine.”

He found the right angle again and then pounded in hard, letting his weight crest over Tom, imagining it to be a blanket that would draw tight around Tom whenever he felt afraid or threatened. No one would ever hurt him again, Chris thought with clenched teeth, snapping his hips forward to mark, to claim.

“Yes,” Tom moaned, head bouncing as Chris pushed into him over and over again. “Yes, Chris…oh god, you’re hitting it, darling. Right…there—Chris, oh god— _fuck.”_

He arched high off the bed just as his orgasm hit him, cock standing tall and pulsing free of touch, and it was like so much light, all that he felt, so many stars in his blood, piercing gently at his skin, that Tom’s eyes rolled back in his head, drowning in all that Chris was above him.

Unable to stop himself from groaning, Chris watched as white come streamed out in thick spurts from Tom’s cock, spurts that synced with every thrust he gave, and still he fucked him through his climax, feeling a raging pride that Tom would come so hard from his touch.

Tom took the last of Chris’s thrusts, thick fingers gripping his hips, tight and hard, and what lovely bruises would be left there. Tom smiled, still floating on his high

He winced at the sensitivity, but Chris came only seconds later, blinded by Tom's tightness, rhythm thrown wild, snapping his hips forward as he found his release with a stifled grunt.

Tom held perfectly still, wanting to remember every detail of this moment. And he did, shivering with pleasure as thick, hot spurts coated him from within.

Chris gave small, hard thrusts, head thrown back, coming and coming, there seemed to be no end to it. He moaned and squeezed the thin flesh of Tom’s hips, nails biting in. Fighting lightheadedness, he glanced down and watched where he disappeared into Tom, and there was nothing between them. Nothing he would have to remove or dispose of. He’d give it all to Tom and Tom would take it and it would become a part of him, this heat, this intimate essence of Chris and his love for Tom.

“Fuck,” he breathed, finally slowing. He pulled out gently, and was astonished to see a thick white stream of his come leak out after.

Tom, blinking dazedly, shifted but didn’t protest, murmuring softly.

Chris found his shirt and wiped at Tom carefully, cleaning himself off last. He tossed it away and then sank down beside him, nuzzling his neck, skirting his hands up the long plane of Tom’s back, hoping to make him feel safe and protected.

Tom smiled and cuddled closer.

“How do you feel?” Chris asked quietly, half nervous to hear something unlike all he himself was feeling.

“It was…beautiful,” Tom said softly. “I felt you come in me, Christopher.” He grinned and pressed his face to Chris’s neck, kissing the skin there. “I felt you come, and it was amazing. _I_ felt beautiful. Thank you, thank _you_ , my love.”

Awed, Chris could only blink to drive away his tears. He kissed Tom’s forehead and then reached back to turn off the desk lamp, throwing the room into a heavy darkness, but it didn’t matter. Tom was curled up safe in his arms, and he felt they had sailed to the moon together, bringing back a handful of stars, each their own, and for each other.

“You don’t have to thank me, babe,” he replied. “I love you. You’re the most beautiful boy I know. Nothing can change that for me. And I would give you the entire world.”

Tom sighed, and in it Chris could hear his smile. He wiggled a leg between Chris’s thighs, settling heavy and easy against him, and closed his eyes and mind and heart to at least two of his fears. But he pushed them out of his mind, not wanting to give them any more power than they already had. He knew that slowly, with Chris, he would conquer them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you reading Half Moons and a Peach Tree, I'll update tomorrow! *hugs*


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you *so much* for your super patience. I'm on this machine 6-8 hours a day that elevates and lowers my leg up and down for ever and ever amen. It takes a whole lot of time from my writing because it's not the easiest to type while lying on my back lol. But whenever I'm off the machine I try to jot things down. So thank you, I really appreciate it <3 Hope yo enjoy this new chapter! 
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3

With fresh finger marks bruised neatly into his hips and his mouth still buzzing from fevered kisses, Tom rose in the morning and dressed quietly for school. Chris didn’t say a thing about it, but only smiled and left a heavy, loving peck on Tom’s forehead, his way of saying that he approved.

Firm-jawed and resolute, and a small degree angry, Tom gripped Chris’s hand and led the way to the main office. Their first stop was to see Principal Williams. He ushered them right away.

“Tom, I heard about what happened yesterday.”

Right to the point, Tom thought. He nodded and explained what had taken place in his physics class, all the things that were said.

“I want to take my classes with him,” Chris added, after Tom was finished.

The principal nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll start getting all that arranged today. By Monday, you can both start to take the same classes. And I’m very sorry about what that young woman said to you, Tom. As well as the reaction from the rest of the class. Our faculty tries their best to keep things like that under control. I will speak to them all about it again.”

As Chris left Tom at his first class, they hugged and said nothing, promising without words to be only a text message away.

His morning classes went by without incident. People still stared and still whispered, but it was never blatantly done. Tom focused on his work, never speaking with his classmates or making an effort to participate in discussions. Brow drawn low and teeth gritted, he had to remind himself every few minutes to breathe in and out. His chest was tight with anxiety and a headache was beginning to settle in behind his right eye.

During lunch, Julie sat next to him and touched his shoulder gently.

“My Tommy,” she whispered, using the nickname preferred by Jason. Stroking his elbow softly, she leaned in to whisper, “There was talk in the girls’ locker room about what Susannah said to you yesterday. I’m so sorry about that. It’s too bad about what happened to her sometime after school.”

Tom snapped his head around. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged casually and took a sip of her soda. “I think someone jumped her. Smacked her around a bit. She had a nasty split lip this morning when I saw her in gym. I heard some gals asking her about it, but she was awfully quiet about the whole thing.”

Jason was peering at her with a tiny smile on his face, and she shrugged again as she reached for his hand under the table.

“Anyway,” she continued, “that’ll sure teach her to be calling people names, won’t it?”

Tom stared at her and felt his face start to heat with a strange mixture of remorse, relief, and simple pride. Julie winked at him and then turned to Jason, speaking to him in a low voice about their homework.

Feeling the faint traces of a smile on his lips, Tom looked down at his food, immensely confused and honored about this new knowledge. He’d been half afraid that he would have little support once he’d returned to school, but now he knew he was gravely mistaken. Jason, Danny, Jaime, and Julie had all shown with words and actions that they were going to help defend him against any wayward gossip and judgmental comments directed at him. And he felt heavy with gratitude at their friendship.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he nevertheless said quietly, worried about condoning the spread of physical violence.

Julie turned back to him and then touched his wrist gently. “You let me worry about what I do and don’t have to do, Tommy. Some things shouldn’t be allowed to exist. And what that girl said is one of them.”        

Chris had studied the exchange quietly. And then he looked at Jason and whispered, “Chalk dust in coffee, huh?”

Jason, in the middle of drinking from Julie’s soda, snorted and hurried to lower the can before he spilled it all.

Still looking at Julie, Tom smiled after a moment and then clasped her hand tight, a look of understanding passing between the two. He went back to his reading, Chris’s hand rubbing a soothing circle on his lower back.

Sure enough, when Tom walked into his physics class, he sank into the same lab seat as the day before, but the girl who’d sat in front of him, Susannah if he recalled, still hadn’t arrived. He brought out his pencil and binder and heavy textbook, laying his calculator down on the hard black table surface. When he looked up, she was slinking in through the doorway, head ducked low. Her long blond hair was once again plaited neatly down her back, but her glasses did nothing to hide the hot blush on her face. Her lip was puffy and slightly bruised.

She lifted her eyes to meet his but then quickly turned away, sitting down in her chair and unpacking her things.

Taking her cue, Tom remained silent throughout the lesson, but noticed that his teacher lingered by Tom’s side of the class for the duration of the hour. Principal Williams had probably already spoken to his junior colleagues about keeping an eye on student chatter.

Drama was a blessed respite. Jason and Julie immediately glued themselves to Tom’s side, but there were occasional moments he was alone backstage, prepping the curtains or adjusting levers for opening night. His classmates for the most part, kept their distance, stealing furtive glances at him as if he were some kind of walking vision. A vision of who knew what, Tom thought. Of tragedy survived? Of taboo incarnate? Of barely sustained relief that it hadn’t been them?

A few of his classmates came to speak to him personally, to say how sorry they were, that they had his support no matter what. One girl had a shimmer of tears in her eyes as she embraced him quickly before letting him go and disappearing behind the velvet-lined drape.

It wasn’t until he was back in Chris’s car that he felt he could breathe easy, easing back into the seat and closing his eyes.

Chris had taken his hand as soon as they were buckled in, and didn’t relinquish it until they were parked outside Tom’s house.

It should have felt like the easiest thing, to walk up the drive and open the door and greet his mother happily, to talk about his day and ask what was for dinner.

But there was still a part of him that felt diseased and tarnished. Something that he felt he could see in her eyes, in _anyone’s_ eyes really, that he wasn’t the same. It was probably all in his head and he hesitated, wondering if he should speak to the school counselor after all.

And when he did greet his mother, he felt comforted by her warm smile and tight hug, the way her hands carded through his hair and then slid down to cup his face.

They headed up the stairs after she told them to wash up for dinner in an hour, that Chris’s parents were coming over to join them.

Minutes later, enveloped by clouds of steam, Tom reclined against the corner of the shower as Chris squatted before him. Sinking his fingers into blond hair darkened by the hot water, Tom winced as Chris took him deeper, big hands skimming around the backs of his thighs.

“Oh…god, darling,” he whispered, looking down at Chris, whose blue eyes were big and zeroed in on him, lashes heavy with droplets of water.

“You’re beautiful,” Chris said breathlessly when he pulled off for a second. “So beautiful, Tom. You taste so good. I love it.” He moaned as he sucked Tom down again, his tongue smoothing under the thick and sensitive vein.

And when Chris swallowed, the head of Tom’s cock hugged by his fluttering throat, Tom gasped and clutched at Chris’s head, tossing his head back as he thrust into his mouth twice before coming with a stifled grunt. Chris moaned and sucked him until he finished pulsing, swallowing his load with a grin.

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered, afraid he’d hurt Chris with his frantic thrusts, but Chris stood fast and latched their mouths together, wrapping his arms around Tom’s back to corner him in. The crinkle of the plastic around Chris’s plastered wrist was loud in the close area.

“Close your legs,” he whispered hotly, and Tom’s thighs snapped shut. “Tell me to stop if you need it.”

Tom nodded, but slid his hands around Chris’s waist, drawing him nearer.

And when Chris took himself in hand and angled low, Tom’s mouth fell open in a long exhalation, their eyes locked onto each other. Pushing past the tight muscle of Tom’s clenched thighs, Chris’s cock slid burning just beneath Tom’s sac, further and further, until their hips were flush. Acting as a tight sheath for his cock, Tom could feel the heat of it between his legs, feet locked together, narrow compared to Chris’s wider stance. His toes were his favorite shade of pink.

Chris started a slow rhythm, moaning quietly as his cock finally found the friction it desperately needed. Sliding his hands down Tom’s back, made slick from the water, Chris gripped his ass and hauled him forward as he thrust, their hips smacking together. They both moaned, and then fell silent, fully aware of Tom’s mother downstairs in the kitchen.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Chris warned, lips grazing Tom’s brow.

“Again,” Tom murmured, eyes glazed and half-lidded. His fingers tangled in Chris’s hair as he rose on his tiptoes, jutting his pelvis forward. “Again, darling. Please.”

Gripping him hard, Chris Tom tilted toward him and began rutting against him again, the head of his cock peeking from the back of Tom’s cheeks with every snap of his hips.

Head swimming with want, Tom smiled up at Chris, for this was just what he craved, what he needed, to start removing the stains of another from his body. They had taken the big step of intercourse again, made more intimate and pleasurable without their condoms, but this was yet another way for Tom to feel anchored and saturated with Chris. This very moment, with Chris practically holding Tom off the floor, his big body flush against Tom, hips quick and bruising (Tom hoped) a new beat on his skin. In time, Tom wouldn’t remember another person’s voice, their moans, the feel of their flesh on him. In time, only Christopher’s voice and his groans, and his warmth and claiming strength, were what would start to fill Tom’s dreams again. Breath hitching, Tom clasped the back of Chris’s neck and felt his body tighten in response to Chris’s pending orgasm.

Chris could feel the coiling start in his belly and he growled low in his throat. Tom let his head fall back and Chris eyed the smooth skin of his neck. Not wasting a moment, Chris bent his head and bit down, Tom’s pulse erratic under his tongue. The smothered cry Tom gave made Chris whimper.

Moving Tom’s hips faster, his own meeting the motion thrust for thrust, Chris finally came with a strangled groan, nearly silent, his teeth sinking in just a tiny bit more. He spilled hotly down the back of Tom’s thighs, and he rutted twice more, drawing out his climax.

Breathing heavy, they both stood shaking, touching the other’s face, murmuring.

They smiled at each other, and Tom kissed the tip of Chris’s nose. After rinsing and changing in Tom’s room, they headed downstairs for dinner.

**

“Our lawyer approached Mr. Shaw with a deal.”

Tom and Chris looked up from their homework. They were sitting at the kitchen table, books and laptops open. The two families had just finished with dinner, and the adults were sitting in a loose circle in the living room, sipping on cups of coffee.

Catching Tom’s eyes, Chris looked back at James through the archway, listening intently.

“Mr. Shaw is still in intensive care. Jaw wired shut. But he’s been communicating with his lawyer through handwritten notes.”

Craig scoffed and whispered under his breath. “Oh, it would be terrible if his wrists were broken, too.” He scowled into his coffee.

James nodded. “Because Tom doesn't want this to be too public, our lawyer suggested a plea bargain."

"What's that?" Chris asked, eyes narrowed.

"It's when Shaw is offered a deal in return of an admission of guilt." 

"What kind of a deal?" 

"Based on what they found in Mr. Shaw’s home, he would most definitely be found guilty of numerous accounts of sexual misdemeanors and two felonies, on account of the aggravated sexual and physical assault. Now, the way the lawyers explained it, if he accepts a plea bargain, he would agree to plead guilty, but would receive a less severe sentence, and he wouldn’t be able to appeal since he’d taken a deal in the place of a trial.”

“No,” Chris said, standing fast. “That can’t be right.”

The adults turned to them.

“Does that mean there wouldn’t be a jury?” Tom asked quietly, already guessing the answer. He figured his parents were acting on his wishes of avoiding the pubic as much as possible.

James shook his head. “No, son. No jury. No trial. No testimonies. The sentence would be given after he admitted guilt to his crimes. And that would be the end of it.”

Tom looked down at his homework. The essay he was working on might have been written in Russian for how much sense it made to him.

“There has to be a trial,” Chris insisted. “Jason needs to give his testimony, too. It will only strengthen Tom’s case. Especially since Jason was underage when it happened. He still is, actually.”

The adults nodded, as if they had already thought this through, but were at a loss on how to proceed.

“Your friend’s age has already been considered,” James said. “And will be a definitive condemnation in Shaw’s case. It will add years to his sentence, even if it might not be as long as he deserves.”

“And the fact that they proposed the plea bargain to begin with,” Craig said softly. “It’s a form of admission anyway. Of his guilt.”

“But we don’t need him to admit to anything!” Chris insisted. “He was caught. And with all the stuff they found in his home…” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I should have bashed his head in,” he mumbled, so that only Tom could hear.

Tom took his hand, brows puckered in worry.

This was the deal his lawyer had proposed. Frankly, he hadn't really thought his parents would listen quite so well when Tom had offhandedly worried about being in the public eye, or about how he was terrified of repeating it all over again. Now that the deal had been proposed, it was up to Shaw to accept it or not.

A plea bargain meant no trial. No testimonies. Tom sighed in relief.

But then he bit his lip. It wouldn’t exactly mean there would be no media coverage. Just that afternoon, they had watched a news segment where Jason’s confession had been the center focus. They hadn’t referred to him by name in their report, but the news anchor had remarked on the possibility of, with Jason’s testimony, other victims existing and whether or not they might also come forward in light of recent developments.

No trial meant never seeing Shaw again. Tom certainly appreciated that. But what would it mean to the integrity of victims everywhere, that a perpetrator’s crimes might just be swept under the rug and he be locked away with little notice? Still, Tom felt a certain measure of relief at the possibility of not having to repeat his story to a courtroom full of people, all those eyes on him, the hot glare of overhead lights pouring down, heavy and prickling sweat from his pores. It made his stomach knot just thinking about it.

“Well, I certainly see a bright side to a plea bargain,” Leonie said quietly. “It would be over fast. A trial can be drawn out over a length of years. Lord knows I’ve seen patients die from injuries while their attackers sit tight in a cell waiting for a jury to decide their fate.”

Everyone was silent. Chris sat back down and Tom squeezed his hand under the table.

“It will still be a little while until we know Mr. Shaw's answer,” Diana said, reading the blooming dismay on Tom’s face. “The lawyers have a meeting with the judge next week. It's best not to think on it now.”

The boys helped Diana clean the kitchen after Chris’s parents went home. Finishing their homework took another hour, but they kept glancing at each other throughout, James’ words heavy on their minds. Left alone in the dining room once Tom’s parents went to bed, the rest of the house was dark, they felt safe to speak openly.

“What do you think?” Tom asked, packing away his notebooks.

“I don’t like it,” Chris said, mirroring his actions. “I feel it’s giving him a break he doesn’t deserve. How or why did your lawyer do that? Why was that deal even proposed? A trial would condemn him for longer. If others, like Jason, want to tell their story, then they should be allowed to.”

“The plea bargain won’t prevent others from telling their story,” Tom said, leaning back in his chair. “From how my dad explained it, all accounts will be taken before a judge and they will have to be considered.”

Chris scowled but didn’t reply, stuffing his calculator into the front pocket of his backpack.  

Gulping down his sudden nausea, Tom picked at a cuticle. “I’m afraid,” he whispered.

A single second passed before Chris was rounding the table and kneeling before him, wide hands bracketing Tom’s thighs. “Afraid of what, babe? He can’t hurt you again.”

“Of all those people. The way they’ll look at me. Having to tell it…all over again. My parents...I think they asked our lawyer how best to go about this without being so public. Maybe this was his answer.” He closed his eyes and stood, forcing Chris to lean back. He sensed Chris rise and follow him step by step.

“You don’t want a trial.” There was a mixture of disbelief in Chris's voice, and a small amount of knowing.

Tom turned to him. “I want it to be over, Chris. I want to be able to know he’s behind bars and I can finally move on.”

“But what if there are others? What if Jason wasn’t the only one?”

“Jason’s already given his statement. His testimony has been added to mine.”

It was true. After his fight at school, Jason told Tom how his parents had sat him down and asked him if everything the principal had told them was the truth.

“I told them yes,” Tom remembered Jason admitting to him. “I mean, who the fuck would make shit like that up?”

Jason’s parents had been shocked. And then they’d broken down, pulling their son into a tear-filled discussion that should have happened a year before.

“Tom.”

He blinked. Chris was staring at him with worry etched into the tight skin around his eyes. His Chris. So beautiful and lovely and strong.

“Maybe Shaw will accept the plea bargain.” It was hard for him to keep the hope out of his voice.

The quiet that ballooned around them after his words made him wince and he took a half step back.

Chris’s face fell. “What?”

“I want it over with, Chris. I don’t want to think about him ever again. A trial could last months. I’d have to see him over and over. I can’t do it.”

Standing stock-still, Chris held his body in a tight line of tension, eyes narrowed on Tom.

“I'm...I can't believe this,” he whispered.

“It’s what I want,” Tom replied, hands clenching at his sides.

Chris inhaled and then snapped out of his slouch. Turning on his heel, he left the room.

“Chris,” Tom whispered, watching him go. “Chris, wait!”

But Chris had already reached the front door, had already pulled it open, had already left. The growling vibration of his car engine sounded form outside, and Tom sank into a chair, feeling his heart fall.

**

He waited. But Chris didn’t come back. Tiring, Tom had eventually gone upstairs to let his parents know he would be at Chris’s house. When they asked if Chris was driving Tom, Tom had lied, saying Chris was waiting in the car for him. Carrying their backpacks over each shoulder, Tom set off down the street, the evening dusk settling the sky a deep purple, streaks of orange fading near the horizon. There was no peering over his shoulder, no stopping and hearing for stray sounds of a pursuer. Tom kept his pace steady, wondering what it would feel like to drop their bags and simply run, not out of fear, but simply because he _could._

When he reached Chris’s house, he pulled out his copy of the key to the front door, and let himself in. He’d been given a spare by Chris’s parents back when the shit hit the fan, and Chris had been given one to Tom’s house in turn. Their ladder climbing days seemed to be over.

Chris’s mom had late rounds that night, and Chris’s dad was most likely already asleep. Still, Tom crept up the stairs, listening for any movement. Hearing none, he hurried into Chris’s room and closed the door quietly. He fully expected to find Chris already in the room, pacing or staring out the window, but he was shocked to fine the room empty. He should have known, really. His car was missing from outside.

Faint moonlight cast crooked rectangles over the unmade bed, blankets and sheets askew from their hasty departure that morning. Resigned to waiting, Tom tucked their backpacks under the bed with a small sigh, feeling a sort of childish comfort that they were put away snugly together, unlike their owners.

With no homework to do, Tom flipped on the TV and watched a mindless documentary on the possible existence of mermaids, scoffing half the time as the narrator attempted to add drama to the ridiculous speculations of the reality of half human underwater creatures. But he knew his open ire stemmed from his minor spat with Chris, and Chris’s subsequent hasty departure, not at half thought of sea myths.

He felt right in his decision. And no matter what kind of tantrum that Chris threw, because that’s what this _was,_ Tom couldn’t help the relief that had flooded his heart at the idea of a plea bargain. He couldn’t explain how upset he’d been feeling while anticipating having to relive his experience in front of complete strangers, having them decide the fate of his abuser, because frankly, he hadn’t allowed it to rear so hideously before. But a plea bargain guaranteed a guilty sentence and no public testimonies. And how much more could the sentence be reduced, really? Tom still believed the bastard would get decades behind bars. Maybe he would even die there.

He shut the television off and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. After their time in the shower, Tom had hoped that he and Chris could continue their lovemaking, not having to worry about school the next day. But Chris had just stalked off, no comment as to where he was going, or for how long.

_Darling, please call me. I want to talk about this._

He hit send.

It was making Tom nervous and he bit his lip, wondering if he should call him or give Chris his space.

They’d spent so much of the last few months only feet away from each other. Tom was sure that Chris probably desired some time alone, some time to think. Tom certainly had, but he always took advantage of their small moments apart to do just that. And in all honesty, he never tired of Chris’s presence. So many couples usually complained about their significant others late in the relationship, once the luster had worn off. But there was something different about his relationship with Chris. He couldn’t necessarily compare it to anything else, what with Chris being his first boyfriend, but what they’d been through, what they’d been forced to experience, had made them closer than ever before, than any other couple he’d known.

He was pretty sure Chris felt the same. In fact, he was positive he did. But the way Chris had left that evening after learning that Tom didn’t want a trial, well, it made him wonder.

Chucking off his shoes, Tom climbed onto the bed and collapsed over the pillows, inhaling the sweet scent of blond sunlight he knew lingered there.

A sharp vibration roused him a while later and he fumbled for his phone. It was just after eleven.

He frowned. It was Danny calling. He answered quickly.

“Tom?”

“Danny? Is Chris with you?”

A sound like a sigh and then a short laugh in the background. “Yes, he’s here. He’s been here for a few hours. He came by and seemed angry about something, but he wouldn’t say what. We played video games for a little bit, but. Look, it kind of got out of hand, but we each took a swig of some of the liquor my dad has in his office. Only, Chris wouldn’t stop. He had this determined look on his face. I finally managed to drag him back into the living room just now, but he’s pretty drunk. And my parents are due back soon. They went out to dinner with my older sister.”

Tom was already up and shrugging into his shoes. “Okay, oh god. Okay. I’m going for him. I’ll walk there. Where do you live?”

“No,” he heard Chris say in the background. “I—I—I don’t want himmm waaalking here. I’ll…go…I’ll go to him.”

His words were so slurred, Tom paused in his motions, mouth falling open. He really _was_ drunk. He heard Danny hush him gently, speaking to him over the speaker.

Panicked now, Tom put Danny’s address into his phone’s GPS, and then set off at a jog from Chris’s, but it was in a different neighborhood, and it took him half an hour to get there. When he did, he pushed through the front door and saw Danny standing over Chris, trying to get him to drink some water. Chris, who had his eyes closed, was smiling and then hiccuped, clutching his stomach with a grimace.

“Chris,” Tom breathed, hurrying to his side. He cupped his face, taking in the moist and reddened skin.

Chris squeezed one eye open and then his face fell open in happiness.

“Baaaabe,” he slurred, reaching for Tom. His big hands curled around Tom’s biceps and squeezed painfully. Tom flinched at his strength, unchecked in his inebriated state. “I fucking love you, baby. I’m so mad at you. But here you are. Just like in my dreams. You’re all I can think about, Tom. I will keep you safe.” His eyes, the blue glazed over from the alcohol, blinked slowly, not really focusing on him at all.

“How long has he been like this?” he asked as Chris continued to grope at him.

“We didn’t start drinking right away. It was only like an hour ago that he really started to toss back more than the one shot we took together. I’m feeling kind of sick too, but I’ll just go brush my teeth and jump into bed before my parents find out. It was so stupid, Tom, but it was kind of an unspoken dare between us, you know? He seemed bent on doing something daring since the moment he walked in. I mean, I tried to get him to slow down, to stop altogether. I even suggested we order pizza, but he kept going. And then he started talking about bargains and witnesses and I knew it was time to call you.”

Tom groaned inwardly. _Shit._

“It’s alright,” Tom whispered. “It’s not your fault. Just forget everything you heard, it’s official business about the trial and we had a little argument over it today. But I’ll deal with that later. Help me get him to his car and I’ll take him home.”

Together, they propped Chris up between their bodies, and his heavy weight had Tom wondering how the hell he was going to get him up the stairs at his house to his room.

Chris was giggling and trying to angle his face into Tom’s neck, murmuring about how beautiful he was. Face flushed, Tom hoped he didn’t say something too embarrassingly intimate in front of Danny, but it was only more giggles and strong-handed caresses.

Huffing, he and Danny fumbled to unlock the passenger door and finally bent Chris over, tilting him into the open seat. With the moon full in the black sky, they looked like bandits trying to sneak away with stolen goods.

Chris groaned and curled over his stomach, angled away from the door.

“Thank you,” Tom gasped, shutting the door before Chris fell out.

“He’s fucking heavy,” Danny gasped, just as out of breath. “I’m sorry I can’t help you back at his house. I would have driven him over myself, but I’m scared shitless my dad’s going to find out about the booze. I’m going inside to air freshen the crap out of the living room.”

“I can manage, thank you,” Tom said, not really believing his own words.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, Tom buckled in, worried when he glanced at Chris and saw he wasn’t wearing his seat belt.

“It’s just a five minute drive,” he told himself and put the car in gear.

Chris groaned and reached across the seat, his fingers curling in Tom’s shirt above his belly. He mumbled something and then hiccuped again.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Tom whispered, soothing Chris’s forehead with his free hand, feeling the hot sticky texture of it. His scalp felt hot as Tom brushed back his hair. “We’re almost home.”   Not only was he transporting a very drunk underage boy, but Tom was also driving without his license, and he cursed himself for forgetting to grab his wallet from his backpack. He maneuvered through the streets carefully, but thankfully arrived back at Chris’s house without further incident.

Cutting the engine, he turned in his seat and touched the top of Chris’s hair again. The inside of the car reeked of alcohol and he wondered how the hell he was going to explain this to Chris’s parents if they caught them.

“Chris.”

A soft moan.

“Christopher, wake up.”

A small painful sound like a whimper. “Nooo.”

“Yes. Now listen to me. We have to get you upstairs, but you need to be very quiet. Do you hear me?”

“Mmm. No.” Stubborn.

“I’m serious. Now, I need you up and standing because I can’t carry you. I can help you, of course, but you need to walk on your own. And be very—.”

“Quiet, okay.” Chris sighed and then stretched back on the seat, his hand tightening in Tom’s shirt. “My head hurts, baby.” He groaned and lay a hand on his own belly. “My stomach, too. It’s all so—.” Hiccup. “—dizzy.”

“I can imagine,” Tom said dryly, but with a small sigh. “Come on. Let’s go before your mom gets home.”

Pulling Chris from the car was harder than he thought. Hands gripped tightly, Tom tugged hard and Chris stood off balance, but it was too fast and they were tumbling together to the grassy lawn.

Chris started laughing and then pressed a finger against Tom’s lips roughly, shushing him loudly, as if Tom had been the one making all the noise.

“Stop that,” Tom hissed and pushed his hand away. Then he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend before he rolled away onto the street. But Chris got the wrong idea.

“Baby,” he moaned, his breath hot in Tom’s ear. “Goddamn, you’re fucking gorgeous in the moonlight.”

He gripped at Tom’s hips and pushed down, forcing Tom onto his back. Face jammed into his neck, Chris mouthed sloppily.

“Enough of that!” Tom hissed again, rolling so that Chris was on his back instead. Chris clutched his stomach and moaned. Tom hesitated. It was probably better if Chris vomited. Tom was pretty sure he would, eventually.

“If you’re going to be sick, do it here instead of on the stairs,” he said softly, touching the back of Chris’s neck, moist and feverish.

“I don’t—I don’t want to.” And then he burped loudly and sagged with relief. “That’s better.”

Tom smiled and rubbed his back. “Silly puppy.” Casting his gaze around, he wondered if anyone was watching their fumbling around, but the street and houses were sleepily quiet.

Leaving Chris on the lawn, he closed the car door with a quiet click and then unlocked the front door of the house, propping it open.

Rushing back, he urged Chris to his feet and they rose unsteadily, Chris so much heavier than usual. Tom was trembling by the time he clumsily bolted the door and they began their ascent.

Chris hiccuped again and then turned into Tom, wanting to snuggle.

“ _Shh_ ,” Tom whispered, hoping their progress went unheard. Step by clumsy step, they made their way up the stairs. At the top, they tiptoed almost comically down the hall and into the bathroom, but the master bedroom’s door remained closed.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Tom leaned Chris against the counter and then turned on the tap. He wouldn’t be able to shower Chris without risking the both of them falling and breaking their necks, but he would at least help him wash his face and brush his teeth, hoping his parents didn’t detect the smell of liquor hanging off his skin and clothes.

Chris suddenly sat up, face draining of color, before he was turning fast and dropping to the floor before the toilet, Tom at his heels. He heaved and then amber colored liquid gushed from his mouth, a long torrent of it. Chris sobbed and then heaved again. It went on and on, Chris’s body curled tightly over the bowl of porcelain, fingers shaking as he clung to it.

Massaging between his shoulders, Tom held back the long strands of hair from getting in his way.

“It’s alright, there you go,” Tom murmured, eyes tearing from the effort to avoid gagging. “Let it all up, good darling, good.”

When Chris went limp against the seat of the toilet, Tom pulled the handle to flush it all away. Breathing shallowly, Chris lay there, a sickly green hue to his skin, his lashes fluttering almost helplessly.

A rush of protectiveness came over Tom and he sprang into action again.

“Come on, my love. We’re not done yet. Up you get.”

Moaning again, Chris stumbled to his feet, but leaned over the sink obediently as Tom wiped at his face with a cool washcloth.

“Just some mouthwash, okay?” he whispered, holding the bottle to Chris’s lips. Chris squirmed away, holding his mouth closed tight. “Just a little bit, darling. Your parents will take one whiff of you and know you were drinking. Swish with this for five seconds, for heavens sake. Or maybe the toothbrush? But you might gag again,” he said quietly to himself, looking at the toothbrush in doubt.

Chris wheezed out a laugh, but then winced and wrapped an arm around his middle. “Can’t take a toothbrush, no, no,” he mumbled, and Tom noted the flushed skin on his cheeks. “But I can take your cock. All the waaay down. It’s so good, Tom.” He turned to Tom suddenly, eyes half lidded. “Let me have it. I want it again.” He was leaning Tom’s way, and even with his eyes closed, Chris’s aim was scary accurate and they bumped foreheads painfully.

“Ow!” Tom whispered loudly, rubbing his head. “Take this rinse, and you can have my cock. But tomorrow? Okay? Tomorrow?”

Chris nodded eagerly and tilted his head back to let Tom pour some of the blue rinse into his mouth.

“And don’t you dare swallow it.”

Swishing for only a few seconds, Chris spit it out and then coughed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Better?”

Another nod, and then Chris was swaying. Tom caught him and dragged him to their bedroom, where he locked the door and helped Chris undress, folding his jeans and shirt at the bottom of the hamper.

Nude, Chris was sprawled on his back, groaning again about his head. Tom returned to the bathroom and grabbed some Aspirin from the medicine cabinet. Hoping he wouldn’t throw up again, he coaxed Chris to swallow the pills with some water. Chris arched his back and sidled over as close to Tom as he could, arms reaching. Tom slipped out of his jeans and sat at Chris’s side, dabbing a moist towel on his forehead and cheeks.

He mumbled something, hand finding Tom’s shirt again, twisting.

“What was that?” Tom leaned down.

“Don’t…don’t leave me. Please, baby.”

Despite himself, Tom laughed, incredulous. “The hell are you going on about, Christopher?”

Chris winced, as if Tom’s tone was harsher than he liked. “I puked in front of you. Don’t leave me, please. I’m sorry.”

Tom laughed again, holding his hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. “You are unbelievable. Drink some more water, it’ll help your head, love.”

Chris complied, lifting his head and swallowing back several mouthfuls. Collapsing back to the pillows, he wrapped both hands around Tom’s waist and yanked him closer. Tom gasped as Chris lifted him in the air and pulled him to his side, amazed at the strength of him.

Cuddling into him, Chris sighed and buried his head against Tom’s chest, his hand wide over the small of Tom’s back.

“You won’t leave me?” he slurred, practically asleep.

Tom caressed his hair and kissed his temple gently. “No, I won’t leave you, you silly boy.”

Chris grunted and pressed closer. “You’re a silly boy.”

Tom laughed. “I’m your puppy. And you’re mine.”

“Mmm, yes. Always. Now, sleepy time. Hush.” He giggled and then went limp.

Tom felt him ease into unconsciousness, his breaths and limbs heavier.

Cradling his head, Tom kissed him again, and settled in to sleep.

**

Chris tossed and turned all night. Tom tried his best to help ease him in what must have been very troubling dreams, but no matter how often he stroked Chris’s forehead or tried to hold him still, Chris was beyond him for most of the night. His skin was hot and sweat beaded his temples. Worried, Tom soaked the washcloth in cold water again and brought it back to bed, dabbing at Chris’s face and neck, heart fluttering when Chris would moan in relief, never waking. He would mumble and gasp quietly, roll away with a grunt, only to roll back minutes later, face in Tom’s neck, a sigh like quiet regret.

It wasn’t until a little after five in the morning that Chris finally settled down and clung to Tom tightly, murmurs quieting and his fever subsiding. Chris had been so far deep in his sleep that Tom was afraid to join him. He didn’t know if Chris would still need to throw up sometime in the night, and images of him choking on his own vomit, or getting sick all over the sheets or the carpet, kept Tom on the brink of consciousness, rousing with a worried gasp whenever Chris moved an inch. It was probably unfounded, all his worrying. But he’d never cared for a drunk person before. It wasn’t as if Chris had taken some kind of drug, like heroin, but he was a little frightened, and didn’t know what to expect. It was easiest just to stay awake and look at him, touching his face softly, trail the tip of his nose over the creviced valley of Chris’s chest, willing him to wake up happy and healthy again.

Once he seemed settled enough, Tom lay collapsed against the pillows, Chris curled into his chest, and finally closed his eyes in exhaustion.

The light was different when he woke. Hours must have passed. Tom blinked and the curtains came into focus. Craning his neck, he gasped and half sat up.

Craig, Chris’s dad, was standing by the desk, peering out the window. When Tom moved, he turned to him and smiled. He put his hands up.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. Just checking in on you guys. It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

Beside him, Chris groaned and cuddled closer, still asleep.

Tom rubbed at his eyes, and pulled the blanket a little further up Chris’s naked back. “Oh. Yes, it was a long night.”

He realized his poor choice of words just as Craig’s eyes widened slightly.

“Um, no. Sorry, it wasn’t like that at all,” Tom backtracked, red faced. “It’s just that, Chris wasn’t feel well last night. Some kind of stomach…thing. And I didn’t get much sleep. But he’s slept this whole time. He was asleep the entire time.” He tried emphasizing the last part, but felt like a moron all the same. Immensely glad he was still wearing his shirt at least, Tom sat up all the way and leaned against the headboard. Chris’s fingers twitched against his leg.

“It’s okay, Tom,” Craig said quietly. He put his hands in his pockets. “We’ve known you two have been…uh, intimate. It’s really okay.”

Tom gulped. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s entirely natural. All these emotions lead to all these intentions. It’s really…” He shrugged. “I’m probably the last person you want to be talking about this with. But really. You don’t have to explain.”

Face burning, Tom rubbed at his hair, and stared down at the carpet.

Looking around, Craig’s eyes landed on the washcloth Tom had used to keep Chris cool overnight. “You said he wasn’t feeling well?”

Scrambling to come up with a decent lie, Tom nodded. “It was like a bug or something. A…twenty four hour thing. He threw up once last night, in the bathroom. Had a fever. But he calmed down a bit near dawn. That’s when I fell asleep too.”

Craig leaned down and felt Chris’s forehead with the back of his hand. He frowned. “Still a little warm. Has he drunk any water?”

“Last night. Just before he fell asleep. He gulped down that whole glass.” He gestured to the cup on the desk. “But nothing since.”

Just then, Chris startled awake, eyes blinking fast. “Tom?”

Making to sit up, he groaned and then collapsed back onto the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Fuck me, that’s bright.”

Wincing internally, Tom whispered down to him. “Darling, your father is here.”

“Wha—?” Chris rolled over, squinting his eyes up at his father. “Dad. Um, hi.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Tom jumped in. “I was just telling your father that it seemed like a virus or something. Maybe something you ate.”

Flopping onto his back again, Chris rubbed his face. “Oh, yeah. I still feel kind of crappy. My stomach was killing me last night.”

“Your mother’s back at the hospital today. I was on my way to grab a bite. You two want anything? Burgers? Pizza? Chicken? You might not want to eat anything too greasy, Chr—.”

“Oh, oh, bring me the number six from the burger place down the street. The one across from the bank.”

Craig smiled and shook his head. “Feeling better?”

“Heck no. I’m going back to sleep. Just starved.”

“And you, Tom?”

“I’ll take the number four. Thank you, Mr. Hemsworth.”

“Be back in a bit, then.”

When Craig left, Chris and Tom looked at each other for a long moment, until Tom finally turned away, fingers lacing over his lap.

“Babe,” Chris whispered, and sat up next to him. “Babe, I’m sorry.”

Tom said nothing.

Sighing, Chris inched closer to him. “I was stupid. I don’t really know why I did it.”

“I was so worried, Chris. All night. You had a fever. You threw up so much. And then you were moving around, obviously still upset even in your sleep.” He stared at the window shade, crossing his arms. “I know you’re angry about the plea bargain—.”

“I am,” Chris cut in. “At least, I was. I keep thinking, it’s not fucking fair to give him that big a break. But I know it’s not my decision. And I thought maybe if I tried drinking. Because I see how easy it is for people to forget their problems, in movies, and music, and even in real life. A few drinks will make you forget.”

“Yes, but they won’t make them go away, Chris. It was stupid what you did. Putting Danny at risk like that. I drove you back over here. Climbing up the stairs like…like…like a bunch of drunk teenagers. You’re underage! It wasn’t worth it.”

They sat back against the head board, both frowning.

“You’re right,” Chris finally murmured. “I won’t touch the stuff again, Tom. Jesus Christ, that shit was foul. I had bad dreams all night.”

“I know. You had a fever, too. Whispering things. I didn’t sleep a wink.”

Chris’s face fell. “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.” He leaned over Tom and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Tom let himself be held, missing the feeling. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Tom looked him in the eye. “I love you, Christopher. I will always take care of you. You’ve always taken care of me, too.”

“You know. I had a dream about him.”

Tom frowned. “Oh?”

“I dreamt he was killed in prison. Someone up and shanked him.”

A few seconds passed and then they fell into a tight embrace, Chris’s body still warm from sleep.

“Will you forgive me?” Chris whispered, lips at Tom’s ear.

Tom nodded. “Yes, darling. I forgive you.”

Chris sighed his thank you into Tom’s ear. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

Tom laughed. “Yes, please. Let’s.”

**

They ate the food Craig brought them, Chris swallowing back what seemed like a whole gallon of water immediately after. Falling asleep again, they stayed in bed until almost six in the evening.

Showering together, Tom watched Chris carefully. Even though he didn't voice any complaints, Tom knew that his head was killing him, squinting at any bright lights. He gave him some more Advil before they left.

It was Saturday night and Chris was taking Tom to the movies.

“What do you want to see?” Chris asked, draping an arm over Tom’s shoulders.

The evening was cloudy and a nice breeze ghosted over the theater’s parking lot.

“Nothing violent,” Tom answered, tucking his phone away into his pocket.

They stood before the row of plastic-protected movie posters, and laughed. Nearly every movie featured some kind of violence, explosions and fighting, or horror and suspense and gore. Abuse seemed to be rampant among movie watching audiences.

“Well then,” Chris sighed, and then his eyes lit up, pointing at the last in the row. “How about that one? Girl with long hair stuck in a tower, gets saved by that dashing bandit. It’s Disney!”

Tom nodded fast, smiling at Chris. Tickets paid for, Chris bought a soda and popcorn. Tom slid his hand through the crook of Chris’s elbow when Chris bought him a bag of gummy bears without asking.

Chris winked. “Only if you feed me some.”

“From my mouth?” Tom asked quietly, lashes lowered. When Chris blushed bright red, Tom laughed and took his hand, dragging him along. Casting a glance around at the crowd, Chris narrowed his eyes at Tom, a sure promise for later revenge.

There was quite a bit of singing in the movie, but Chris enjoyed watching Tom smile and laugh along with the characters, especially the white horse, who acted as a sort of bringer of justice in his Captain’s stead.

“That was the cutest,” Tom sighed afterward, their fingers laced.

“I think you’re the cutest,” Chris said, nodding seriously.

Tom bumped his shoulder, blushing. “Stop.”

The sky, which had before the movie been dark with fat grey clouds, was now cracked wide open, huge droplets of gushing curtains of water cast about by angry winds. They stood at the glass doors and watched the powerful deluge blow each and every way, whispering to each other if they should make a run for it.

Taking his hand, Chris nodded and then pulled the door open. Raindrops cut across their cheeks like bits of glass, but they pressed on, running through the aisles in the parking lot, feet splashing in fast growing puddles. Rounding a corner, Tom’s sneaker skid out from under him, but Chris kept him from falling with a shout to be careful. Keeping a tight grip on Tom’s shoulders, Chris steered them to his car, fumbling with the keys. He opened Tom’s door first and then ran around to his side, jumping in with a laugh.

“My cast!” he shouted, patting it dry with his shirt. The air felt thick on his skin, starting a mad itch just beneath the plaster.

The quiet was muted in the car as they sat breathing heavily, their faces and clothing completely soaked. Outside, thunder rumbled and water beat threateningly on metal, like the dinting sound of bullets.

Smiling, they stared at each other, the air electrified between them. And then a great boom of thunder sounded, rattling the windows. Tom yelped and jumped in his seat, snatching Chris’s hand in a heartbeat.

Chris cleared his throat, eyes bright with mischief. Turning the ignition, cheeks red, he murmured, “I think that liquor’s still in my blood.”

Saying nothing, Tom buckled himself in and watched his boyfriend, forearms slick with rainwater, muscles jumping as he turned in his seat and maneuvered the car in reverse. Strands of Chris’s hair had come loose from his ponytail, hanging long and heavy around his face.

The rain wouldn’t slow and the thunder wouldn’t lessen, so Chris took to the streets carefully. But the small glances they kept giving each other, the smiles and averted eyes, their breaths fogging the windows, were enough to make Chris grit his teeth. And when Tom pulled out the bag of gummy bears from his jacket pocket, slowly taking one of cherry red, Chris swallowed and watched, his eyes flicking from Tom to the road, and back again. Tom slipped the candy between his lips and let his cheeks hollow out before looking back at Chris.

Turning the wheel abruptly, Chris pulled into the park by their neighborhood, darkened and muddied, the playground cast in splattered shadows.

“Fuck it,” he growled, and yanked his seat belt off. He reached for Tom and unbuckled him so fast, Tom had but a single moment to gasp before he was being hauled across the seat, Chris’s mouth crashing against his. The candy passed between them, until they were both groaning with the flavor of cherry gummy, hands frantic on their bodies, clutching and scratching, holding down and lifting up.

“You’re mine,” Chris whispered, a tiny note of desperation in his throat, bending and sucking at Tom’s neck. Tom whined his agreement, shifting his pelvis high.

Arching, Tom let himself be taken by Chris and his strength, offering more of his skin for marks and bites and love bruises, enjoying the wet feel of Chris’s hair under his palms, the moans that elicited his own to bubble to the surface.

They kissed until they were breathless, fingers skimming underneath shirts, hands grasping at hips and legs and shoulders.

Chris ended up over Tom along the front seat, their knees and shins bumping into the steering column. Tugging Tom’s shirt up, he exposed the slim, pale valley of his chest, looking down with eyes heavy with want. He kissed the small gathering of hairs in the center, bracketing Tom’s ribs with his hands, squeezing and feeling them stretch with every hitched breath. Trailing his tongue to a nipple, he licked a circle and then pinched lightly with his teeth.

Tom gasped and gripped his head, anchoring him there. “Oh god…Chris.”

Chris moaned and sucked for a moment and then switched to the other nipple, lavishing the same burning attention until Tom trembled beneath him, thighs pressing into his hips, lifting. Still fully clothed, they felt trapped by the confines of the moist material. Settling his mouth on the firm curve of Tom’s pectoral, Chris started sucking, set to mark a bruise there. He worked at it for long minutes, drawing back to peer at it, bending back low to suck again. When it was good and red, he smiled, brushing his thumb over it. Tom, sensitive, jumped and twisted his hand in Chris’s hair.

Leaning up on an elbow, Chris cupped Tom’s face, adoring the blushing glow on his cheeks, the way Tom craned up for more kisses. But he held back, a tiny smirk on his face.

“If I recall correctly,” he mused quietly, and Tom fell back, trying to gain leverage with his foot on the floor. “You promised me something last night. Or did I dream it all?”

Squirming with frustration, Tom tried wiggling under Chris, wanting to push up against him, align their bodies just right, to rub and squeeze. “You remember?”

“Mmm,” Chris agreed. “Can I have your cock now, hmm? Can I have it, babe?” He whispered in his ear, rocking his hips a tiny bit, smiling when Tom whined.

Nodding fast, Tom took hold of the back of Chris’s shirt, bunching it in his fingers, all the better to access the smooth skin beneath. “Yes. You can have it. Take it, it’s yours. Make me feel it, please. Chris. Please.”

Without another word, Chris was unbuckling Tom’s pants and springing his cock free, taking the weeping head into his mouth immediately.

There was very little moonlight, but the clouds passed steadily overhead, granting them just enough illumination for Tom to see the blond head of his boyfriend start to bounce between his legs. “Yes…” he moaned, eyes rolling back in his head. “Just like that…yes.”

The air was so charged around them, Tom could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, flashes of lightning burning his retinas every few minutes.

Chris used every skill he’d gained over their many months of loving each other, his tongue widening at the head of his cock, flattening along the vein, his throat fluttering as he took him deep. It was obvious to Tom that Chris wanted more of him, his hands straying over his hips, curving behind him, cupping him, his fingers twitching. He loved to breach Tom with a finger or two whenever he sucked him, but there was no time for that, no space. Clothed as they were, they would have to make do with the immediate release.

Tom was nearing his finish faster than before, undulating his hips, cradling the back of Chris’s head. And as he tipped over that blinding edge, he cried out, the black, clouded sky crisscrossed by lightning bolts and the steady pulse of Chris’s name on his lips.

Chris kissed his way back up Tom’s body, mouthing at his nipples again until Tom hissed and twisted away. Laughing, Chris cuddled Tom in his arms and murmured sweetly.

“Tom, I’m so sorry. Again, I’m so sorry. For walking away from you, for drinking and being stupid, for making you worry. For making you lose sleep!” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I want to always be the support you need. No matter what.”

Cupping his cheek, Tom looked up at Chris. “I was really worried, darling. For you. For your feelings about the trial, and while you slept and had a fever and dreamt who knows what.” Looking down, he quietly admitted, “I didn’t like that. We always tell each other where we are.”

“I know,” Chris said softly, eyes soft on Tom.

“And I forgive you. But don’t do it again,” he said, poking Chris in the chest, his smile easing the ache in Chris’s heart.

“I won’t,” he sighed, hugging Tom gently. “God, I won’t.” They held each other until Chris shifted uncomfortably. “And babe? I have a huge boner, so let’s go home, please.”

Tom tossed his head back, laughter bubbling up his throat. “Okay, darling. I’ll help you with that.”

Chris growled and left a big wet kiss on Tom’s forehead in thanks, pulling him up with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Okay, so I'm not a lawyer, but I did the best I could. Enjoy the smut, perverts. I know my beta and I do!
> 
> To my Dusky: I love you so much.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3 
> 
> Sorry for the wait! But here it is :)

A week later, Tom's parents were preparing to meet with the judge and lawyers. Just before bed, they found the boys spread out on one of the couches, watching a cooking show.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do, darling?" Diana asked Tom. Once they submitted the proposal for a plea bargain, it would enter an official process that would only take longer to reverse should Tom change his mind after the fact.

Tom lowered the volume and sat up. Chris did the same next to him.

For the past few days, he’d been thinking over what it would mean to offer Shaw a plea bargain in lieu of a trial. It would mean it would all be handled behind closed doors, no media, no publicity, save for the usual newspaper and web articles that would no doubt spring up after it was all finished. It would mean Shaw would be able to slink away to prison and not face the expected justice for his crimes. Tom thought on how averse Chris was to the whole situation. Even if he had remained quiet about it following their small disagreement and Chris’s drunken episode, Tom knew Chris was still openly opposed to the entire idea of a plea bargain. Not to mention the increased public outcry against what Shaw did, local support and victims’rights groups already approaching Tom’s parents with information on how best to get Shaw convicted. They repeatedly tried to speak with Tom personally, but James and Diana were adamant that Tom not be bothered. The school was helping in that regard, too, placing extra security at all the entrances and checking identification of all visitors. They were being watched closely, as if most of their city was waiting with bated breath for the next step in this ugly business.

And still his thoughts returned to Chris, and his parents, and Chris’s parents, and Jason, who were all more emotionally invested than anyone else, all just as eager for Shaw to get the rightful punishment he deserved. Tom was really starting to doubt his reasoning behind the plea bargain.

As if sensing Tom’s inner struggle, Chris stood and let himself out through the back sliding glass door, perhaps not wanting to hear Tom confirm the easy ride Shaw would get from a plea bargain.

Tom watched him go. His parents, who were still waiting for Tom’s response, sat on the opposite couch, both quiet after Chris's sudden departure.

"Poor thing," Diana said, eyes distant on the back door.

"He's still upset about my decision," Tom said quietly.

“And how do you feel about it, son?” James asked.

Tom sighed and sat back. “I don’t want to see him again. I don’t want to repeat the whole story in a room full of people, strangers, with cameras, all staring at me. But I know it’s the best way to make sure Shaw gets the kind of punishment that he deserves. And I don’t know if it’s fair to any other victims, apart from Jason and myself, if he isn’t made to admit what he did, to face his crimes in front of a jury, and a judge, and the press. In front of me.” He looked down, picking at a cuticle. “Despite my wish to never see him again, I still, in some small part of my brain, I still want to hear him say it. All that he did. And admit that it was wrong.”

Diana stood and came to sit in Chris’s vacant seat. She touched Tom’s arm. “Darling, even if a trial happens, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he will admit to any of it. The evidence will speak for itself, of course, and he will be given a verdict based on that, and on testimonies. But he might not say that what he did was wrong, even if everyone in that room knows it to be true. You have to be ready for that. You have to prepare yourself for the moment when Mr. Shaw might look at you and not admit to a single thing. And whether or not he does won’t change a thing about who you are and all the love and support you have from those around you.” She passed a hand over his hair gently. “Okay, love?”

Tom nodded, still feeling conflicted.

“You are strong. You are our boy,” she went on, voice thickening with tears. “And after this whole thing is behind us, you will do amazing things with your life, with that heart of yours, and that brilliant mind. I know that Chris is upset. He holds you above all others. And a trial, even with the hurt and the scrutiny, it might be the best thing. Your father and I will be with you every step of the way. So will Chris. And Craig and Leonie. We’re your family, and we won’t let you fall from this. If anyone falls, it’ll be him. Because he’s an animal. A monster.”

“He’ll be put away,” James said, smiling at Tom a little sadly from the other sofa. “There’s nothing in the world that will stop that from happening.”

When Tom walked outside after, he could see a solid lump outlined in moonlight on the dark grass. Flopping down beside Chris, who was curled up on his side facing away, Tom sighed and then rolled snug against him, spooning his big spoon. 

“I don’t like when you’re upset.”

Chris said nothing.

“I thought after your little adventure the other night that you wouldn’t be angry with me anymore.”

Chris grunted.

“My parents will take my decision to the lawyers tomorrow.”

Shifting, Chris just sighed. His back rose and fell, rubbing Tom’s chest softly.

“After I tell you what I’m about to tell you, I want you to take me for ice cream. I want a hot fudge sundae. And sprinkles. Promise?” When Chris remained silent, sullen even, as he turned his face further into his arm, as if trying to hide from the terrible thing that was the sky, Tom hugged him a little harder. Lips at his ear, he whispered, “Won’t you talk to me?”

“I’ve said my piece,” Chris huffed, voice muffled. “If I say any more I’ll only admit to you my nefarious plan to break into the hospital and snap Shaw’s neck. And then no one would have to worry any more about any of this.”

"Except us because you would then be on trial for murder."

Chris shifted his head away, and Tom could already picture the blush spreading across his cheeks. "Getting caught isn't part of my plan," he said quietly, and sounded so much like a small boy that Tom’s chest tightened in love, and a little fear, that this person was _his_ and nothing, absolutely _nothing_ could ever happen to him. Tom didn’t know what he would do if something ever did.

He pushed his nose into the nape of Chris’s neck, sliding it into his hair, long enough now that Chris kept it in a bun. He found his hand and laced their fingers, heart flip-flopping when he felt Chris squeeze back. “I told them to scrap the plea bargain.”

He felt the immediate sense of alertness in Chris’s body, the way the entire length of him tightened. And then he was spinning, crowding over Tom, who was too startled to even blink.

Pinning him, Chris loomed above, eyes wide. “Did you really?”

“Yes,” Tom whispered, his heart racing. “There will be a trial instead.”

Eyes fluttering closed, Chris collapsed over him in relief, hugging him hard, face buried in his neck. “I’m so happy I could cry!”

Holding him, Tom laughed quietly and kissed the crown of Chris’s head.

“Wait,” Chris said, drawing back and peering down at Tom. “You didn’t do this just for me.”

“Well,” Tom started, trying to figure out his own emotions about it all. “You were a large part of it. I care greatly about what you think, darling. But I’ve been thinking it over, and I now see that it would be the right thing to do. That just because I’m being stupid about not wanting to see him again—.”

“Babe, you’re not—.”

“I know it’s what has to happen. He should be made to face everyone, the city, the country, about what he’s done. Letting him slip into prison without making him experience any kind of…I don’t know, acknowledgement…it isn’t right. And I need to put my needs and my desires aside for this to be worth it. At least,” he whispered, squirming a bit under the intensity of Chris’s stare. “At least that’s how I figure it.”

Chris didn’t need to say that he loved Tom. If Tom had never heard such a proclamation from Chris before, he would know now, from just the look on his face, that he loved Tom. He adored him, and couldn’t look at him long enough to prove it.

“Stop,” he eventually whispered, a little self-consciously, turning away. Skin hot, his eyes flitted back to Chris, who was still staring, and then he dipped low and caught his lips. The kiss was slow, it was soft and deep, and seemed entirely like every burst of stars above them. Their tongues brushed, their noses bumped, their hips slotted together, and Tom felt that familiar heat pool in the middle of his chest.

When he pulled back, Chris was breathing shallowly, his lips parted, tongue swiping out to taste Tom there.

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” he eventually said softly, dipping to his side and lying partially on Tom, partially on the cool grass. “It’s very brave of you.”

Tom ducked his chin low. “So I was a coward bef—.”

“That not what I said, Tom. I just think that it takes a lot to face your abuser, to repeat and voice what he did to you. It will really help others who have been molested and abused to come forward and speak out against the people who hurt them.”

Tom brushed Chris’s cheek, hardly able to see him in the night shade. “Thank you, my love.” Licking his lips, he let his thoughts tumble from his lips. “I feel different. In a way I can’t recognize. Yes, I still have moments of fear, of panic, where I think he’s just around the corner. But I also know he’s _not_ , and it’s the most…liberating thing I’ve felt since…well, since I met you. When I felt I could start to be open about how I felt for you, all the ways I wanted to express myself and realized that I finally could, and it was allowed, and it wasn’t something I would cower from ever again. It’s almost…fearless, and it’s so frightening, this feeling. But just like my moments of fear, I have moments of daring. That I could do anything.” He shrugged, and then laughed quietly. “I don’t believe I’ll turn into a daredevil, mind you. But I think it’s so amazing that I feel able to go outside on my own and take a walk to my boyfriend’s house now, when before I clearly couldn’t. That’s a good place to start. Don’t you think?”

Chris sniffed, and then touched his cheek to Tom’s, his skin moist and stubbled. “Yes, babe. That’s a perfect place to start.”

They lay hugging in the grass, small bugs buzzing over their heads, the moon taking a peek out at them from behind a grey cloud.

When Chris finally clambered up and dragged Tom to his feet, he kissed his lips, big hands cradling his face. “I think I owe you an ice cream.”

Tom grinned. “That you do.”

With clasped hands, they raced inside and said goodbye to Tom’s parents. Taking to the streets in Chris’s car, they shared their ice creams, and even more sticky-lipped kisses, and then headed back to Chris’s room, to his bed, imprinted with both their scents and shapes, to sleep.

**

The closer the semester drew to a close, the higher the buzz of excitement became for Prom, and ultimately, graduation in May. Tom and Chris began studying for finals in earnest, all the while skirting around the issue of whether or not they would attend Prom. Chris was all for it. He often imagined what Tom would look like in a tux, how they would wear the same color flower pinned to their lapels, swaying together on the dance floor as the dim party lights flickered and glowed around them.

Tom was less sure. He dreaded the looks they'd get, not only from being a same-sex couple, but also because the event of his molestation that had garnered him some kind of infamous reputation at school, not necessarily outright popularity, but recognition enough for people to follow his progress through the hallways, whispers trailing in his wake. Sure, he also imagined what it might feel like to walk into the cafeteria the night of Prom, the rafters crisscrossed with pastel streamers and twinkling lights, the tables pushed back to make room for dancing, music blasting from the DJ booth on a stand in the corner. He imagined waiting in line to have their picture taken, how they might stand, Chris behind him, arms wrapped around Tom's waist, or side by side, arms linked and grinning; or if they would skip the picture altogether, because maybe Chris would drag Tom through one of the exits and make out with him in the deserted hallways, pressed up against the rows of lockers, their boutonnière crushed between their chests.

In any case, there was very little time to think about Prom, despite it being the topic of nearly every lunchtime conversation, Julie going on about her dress and drilling the boys at the table if they'd reserved the limo and what color dresses their dates would be wearing. It was hard to get wrapped up in the giddiness when Tom felt spread so thin with nervousness.

Despite the open delight of his classmates, and the sweet dizzying haze of a prolonged spring, Tom could feel his anxiety mounting each day as the semester neared its end. Apart from trials and jail sentences and prom details, Tom was always aware of the pile of acceptance letters addressed to both him and Chris on the desk, unopened. He had an itch to sift through the envelopes, to count which universities had responded to one or the other, or both. They planned on narrowing them down that way. One of these days. Currently, there were more pressing issues at the forefront of Tom’s mind.

Still, it was with a lazy grin that Chris flopped onto the bed one night holding the stack of envelopes. Tom, who was running a hand through his dripping hair, paused when he saw what was in his hands.

“Is it that time already?”

“We haven’t received any more in a couple of weeks. I think this might be all of them.”

Tom hesitated, still trying to prolong the inevitable. They would be graduating soon. And beyond that, college and the rest of their lives. He wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Chris was studying him, face turned up from his position on the bed. “I propose…a game.”

Tom frowned, scooting to lie face down next to him, elbows and thighs touching. “A game?”

“I know this is stressful. The whole we might not get accepted into the same schools and all, but the fact is that we might also _totally_ get accepted to the same schools.” They laughed, and Tom snaked his arm under Chris’s. “And that is the bigger reward I think. So,”he said, teeth flashing as he smiled big. “I was thinking. For every school that doesn’t accept us both, we kiss. Because it’s okay that that happened, and there are more letters in the pile. But for every school that _does_ accept us together, we…”

Tom smiled. “Oh boy. It’s going to be dirty.”

Chris leaned in and pecked his nose. “Very dirty. Do you want to decide it?”

Tom thought for a moment. “Must be sexual.” Chris made a small noise of approval. “Can be the same or different, depending on how many letters there are.”

“Choices?”

“Blow jobs. Shower sex. What else?”

Brow scrunched, Chris angled his head. “Restraints?”

Tom paused. “How do you mean?”

Chris licked his lips and looked down at the coverlet, blushing. “Um. Well, nothing drastic. I mean, I wouldn’t want to suspend you from the ceiling or anything—.”

Tom’s face burst in heat and Chris quickly wrapped an arm around him. “I’m kidding! Shh, relax. Nothing like that. Maybe a few years down the road.”

“ _Chris_ ,” Tom breathed, leaning into him, face red as a tomato.

“Aw, baby, it’s okay,” Chris whispered, kissing his temple. “But, I was thinking…like nothing severe or anything. No handcuffs or ties or stuff like that. Just me. My hands. My legs. Holding your wrists…holding you down while I…while I fucked you.”

Tom stared at him, mouth parted, heart racing just beneath his overheated skin. He blinked and squeezed Chris’s hand, appreciating the open look of hesitation and small part hope on Chris’s face as he waited for an answer. When he still didn’t say anything, Chris bent his head toward him.

“I just…I think that we really enjoyed that. Earlier in our relationship. When we first started fooling around. In my car. On my bed."

“The bathroom,” Tom whispered, blushing. “Did you forget the bathroom?”

“I will _never_ forget the bathroom. God.” Chris smiled and caressed his wrist. “I think we really liked that, babe. Don't you think?" He let his nose brush along Tom’s forehead, his lips breathing softly on his brow, trailing small kisses to his cheek. “When I would hold you down. When I put my hand over your mouth, babe. When we needed to be very, very quiet. My hands on your hips, keeping you still. Did you like that, babe? As much as I did?”

His voice was barely a whisper, a tickle on his flesh. Tom was already hard, his erection pressed to the mattress beneath him. By the flush of his skin and wide eclipse of pupils, Chris wasn’t any better off.

“Yes,” Tom whispered, realizing that the things Chris mentioned had always been a huge turn on for him. Those wide hands on his body, stronger than him, handling him just a bit roughly. Chris was always careful about checking his strength to avoid hurting Tom, but Tom liked it a little rough, and knew that at the mercy of Chris, he was safe and free and able to sink into that pleasure without the fear of pain and humiliation another person had exposed him to. But that person was no longer an issue in Tom’s life. The dread and distress he associated with Shaw were prevalent in Tom’s thoughts only rarely now; no longer did they crowd out the safety and desire sprung over his heart when with Chris, the satisfaction and pleasure they gave each other, unreservedly. Chris was his only partner, and exploring those kinds of interests came without regret, especially when they both were so curious about that kind of exploration and Tom often dreamed of being set so free by Chris's power over him, the desire to be so claimed. And the most wonderful thing about being physical with Chris was that, while his strength overpowered Tom, there was never a shortage of an open showing of love and affection, of cuddles and nuzzles and all the things that made Tom feel whole and warm.

“Yes, I really liked that, Christopher. I liked your hand over my mouth. Your legs muscling mine apart, your weight pinning me.” He watched as Chris swallowed, sitting up a little taller on his elbows, his entire body held tight. “I like feeling your strength, how vulnerable I can be with you, and not be made to feel _less_. I know you’ve been so much gentler with me these last few weeks because of what happened. And I thank you for that, my darling. But I want to try more of that now. Because I feel safe with you. And that's one of the most amazing, most precious gifts you've ever given me.”

Chris, flicking his eyes between Tom’s, nodded, lifting a hand to wrap around the back of Tom’s neck, heavy and possessive. “Good. Thank you, baby. I love you so much and you are what my heart beats for. You are more than myself. You will never be less than anything, because you’re like…like the sky to me.”

Tom blushed and looked down, the golden hairs on Chris’s forearms catching the light of the desk lamp.

It was with shy smiles that they started sifting through the envelopes, tossing aside six from schools that had only chosen Chris or Tom, and keeping three that had accepted them both.

“Three,” they murmured, staring at the letters in Tom’s hands. They had each received a few scholarships and grants throughout high school, but were counting mainly on their parents to help fund their tuition, as well as making use of whatever wages they earned at the jobs they acquired in college. Still, they grinned at each other and then Chris whooped, grabbing Tom’s face and giving him a kiss on the cheek with a loud smack.

“We still have to choose one!” Tom exclaimed, bouncing on the bed as Chris rolled to the side and jumped up with a laugh.

“We have to check out their athletics departments,” Chris said, pacing.

“And their drama departments,” Tom agreed, sitting up and crossing his legs under him. “Ooh, and their night life.”

“Yeah! And their student unions. What do they have to eat—.”

“Don’t forget the library and research labs—.”

And then they turned to each other at the same time, mouths hanging open. “The dorm rooms,” they whispered.

Chris lunged at Tom and flattened him to the bed, kissing all over his face and neck. Tom giggled and arched his back, cursing how well Chris knew where he was the most ticklish.

“Wait,” he gasped, tears in his eyes from laughing. “Wait, darling. This is—this is so exciting! I mean, if we don’t room together on campus, we can rent an apartment, or…or something!”

Popping his head up, Chris frowned. “Not room together? What would stop us?”

“Well obviously not us, you puppy. But we don’t know how dorm selections are handled at each school. If we even have any say in who our roommates are.”

Something dark clouded over Chris’s face as the reality of that situation settled over him.

“Well, we’ll be taking the tours starting summer,” he conceded, a little deflated. “We can investigate all that then.”

“Yes, love,” Tom whispered, cupping his face. “I’m not worried about it. We’re going to college and I’m getting three very special sexual favors from you.”

Chris visibly brightened and then latched onto his earlobe, growling friskily. That set off even more giggles and they rolled together over the bed, grasping and moaning, shushing and snorting before finally turning off the bedside lamp to rut gently and suck tender bruises on each other’s skin in the dark.

Tom granted Chris his first sexual gift the next morning, when Chris woke up from his deep sleep to discover Tom under the blanket, mouth on his cock.

“Wha—? Oh _god,_ Tom.”

Tom was still hesitant about blow jobs, saying he wasn’t nearly as good at them as Chris was. But he was working his cock with wonderful enthusiasm that morning, wrapping his lips tight around the shaft, tongue licking a streak from root to the tip, nosing his way through the tuft of curls at the base.

As Chris struggled to rise from the fog of sleep and gather his bearings to realize what was happening, he hurriedly flipped the covers away to find Tom between his legs, blond curls mussed and blue eyes gorgeously playful and smiling as they settled on him, never losing his rhythm. His long fingers cupped his balls, massaging and rolling them gently, sucking hard at the tip.

Flushed, Chris grunted and rubbed at his eyes, leaning up on his elbows for a better look. His hips twitched, but he did his best to stop from thrusting up. He knew Tom wasn’t comfortable with that. His gag reflex strong, he could only take him down about half way, using his hand for the rest of it. But he tried valiantly this time, loosening his jaw and inching down Chris's cock, moaning and letting his lashes flutter up at him.

Chris groaned and fell back against the pillow, fisting the sheets and hoping he didn't tear them. The swipe of Tom's tongue edged him dangerously close to finishing, and he zoomed his hands to Tom's head, framing it gently.

"Babe, stop. I'm going to—." Because Tom didn't like that either, when Chris came in his mouth. He gagged every time it happened and Chris had learned to warn him.

But Tom was already lifting up, working a hand over his cock in fast pumps, warm fist tightening and swiveling. Chris came with a ringing in his head, eyes scrunched closed, spine curving in a hollow arc. Teeth gritted, he stifled his cry, abdomen twitching as his balls emptied.

Easing back down to the mattress with a moan, he lay panting, senses not quite returned to him yet. But when he did crack open an eye, what he saw made his entire heart swell. Tom was still lying there, petting his limp cock, wearing a wide and giddy smile under the long streams of come on his face. Dripping down thickly, they curved off the edge of his jaw and chin, and Chris could only stare, mesmerized.

"Does it look good on me?" Tom asked, lips curling into a coy smirk.

"You have no idea," Chris mumbled, sitting up and yanking off his shirt to clean him. Tom held his face upturned as Chris wiped the material over his skin, leaving behind a dry, sticky residue. "My turn," he said softly, taking Tom under his arms and flipping him onto his back, messy blond head ducking to his swallow him whole.

Eager to please, Tom carded his fingers through Chris's hair, letting him bob excitedly for a few moments, before holding him steady with two hands. Planting his heels on the bed, Tom met Chris's eyes, waiting for the other to blink his permission, and then started pumping his hips. Chris loosened his jaw and relaxed his throat, feeling Tom curve to the very back with every thrust. His moan, broken and stilted from Tom’s movements, were like curled wisps of smoke, dissipating into the air. He took hold of Tom’s thighs, aiding him, mostly wanting to feel the hard pulse of the muscles there.

Tom panted, his stomach clenching, the sharp V of his pelvis beaded with sweat.

It was embarrassingly fast, but he’d woken rock hard and couldn’t wait to get his hands on Chris. And with Chris’s hot mouth wrapped around him, he knew he would only last seconds.

"I'm coming," he wheezed, and Chris latched his hands to Tom's hips, inching his head all the way down until the top of his nose was pressed to the flat of his belly. Warmth gushed down his throat and he moaned, throat fluttering to swallow it all. He kept his eyes on Tom, who was trembling, head thrown back. The long line of his neck was so pale, like silken cloth, and he itched to touch it, to bruise it just slightly, either by lips or teeth.

Wincing, Tom took in deep breaths. "Two...to go.”

"A lifetime to go," Chris replied, resting his head on Tom's thigh, heart thumping to a slow rest.

When they fell together against their pillows, hands laced and legs splayed, they breathed each other in quietly, and then caught the other staring, long-lashed haze and sweaty limbs, joined and loose, in love.

**

With each day that passed, Tom grew more and more stressed. The District Attorney's office kept in constant contact with his parents, updating them on the day and time of the trial, any new developments in witness lists and items entered into evidence. Their lawyer had two assistants assigned to him by the D.A.’s office to aid in the workload, all signs indicating that this wasn’t going to be some small case. All the while, the Hiddleston household continued to echo with unanswered telephone rings, calls from different media outlets and more victim's rights groups and lobbyists vying for information on the teenage boy who more often found himself sequestered away rather than enjoying his newfound freedom. His parent’s firm instructions to seek any information directly from their lawyer were more often as ignored as the phone that continued to ring at all hours in their kitchen.

As the date of the trial drew nearer, Tom began settling into a withdrawn silence that made Chris uneasy. He recognized that kind of silence. Tom had experienced it before. It started with one-word responses that slowly progressed to half-hearted mumbles, finally developing into nods or headshakes, eyes always cast away, distracted.

Chris did what he could when he noticed Tom sink into his quiet moods. It wasn’t that he was cold or mean toward Chris; he was simply less present than usual, eyes heavy with something like distance, his shoulders drawn inward, protective of himself, brows creased lightly, his thin lips often caught between his teeth, worrying the sensitive skin. Chris knew the kinds of thoughts that plagued Tom’s mind, and he wished he could rid him of them all.

One evening, after their assignments were completed, textbooks packed away in their bags lined by the bedroom door, Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed slipping off his socks. He’d been silent since after brushing their teeth, his last words a quiet goodnight to Chris’s parents in the hallway. Now, Chris watched him from his position at the window, checking the street from behind the cover of his curtains. Moving around the bed, he sat beside Tom, who looked up at him and smiled. Socks tossed to the floor, they were motionless for a moment, and then Tom reached for Chris’s hand, holding it simply between his own, fingertips touched softly to the calloused rise of his knuckles.

“Baby, is everything okay?”

Tom snapped his head up, brows furrowed. He nodded, shifting closer to Chris on the bed.

“It’s just that…well, it’s just that I’ve noticed you’ve been more quiet lately. And I just want to make sure that you’re okay. That if there’s anything you want to talk about, you can talk to me. I promise I won’t go out and get drunk again.”

Tom smiled, and then laughed, shaking his head and sighing. “I’m alright, Chris. I’m sorry if I’ve worried you.”

“What do you think about, babe?” Chris asked, touching a curl on Tom’s temple softly.

Tom shrugged, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know. I think about the trial, and what it will be like. What things will be said. How people will stare at me. I think I’m trying to prepare myself. Get in the right frame of mind to handle that. My mom tells me to just focus on our lawyer, that he will guide me, that keeping my eyes on him will cancel everyone else out and it will go by faster that way. Other times I think about…him. And what will happen when we see each other again. What will he look like? Will I recognize him? Or will it be just his eyes that do the trick? That will freeze me, paralyze me, and then I’m at the mercy of that stare again, that stare that still sneaks into my dreams sometimes, always in the back of my mind from the times at school that I couldn’t escape it.” He shivered and Chris immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders, rubbing softly. “It’s constant. And I guess I fall into it more often the closer we get to it. I’m sorry, darling.”

“Don’t apologize, babe. You have a lot on your mind. All of us are preparing ourselves for that day. It will be hardest for you, I know. But please know that you won’t be alone, ever. We will all be there with you. And he will never get near you. Ever.”

Tom leaned into him, and Chris rubbed a hand over the bony points of his spine, feeling the bowed ridges of his ribcage, and then lower to the jutted points of his hips.

He swallowed, angling his cheek low to brush their cheeks together, stubble and smooth skin blending so easily between them. He felt the shift in the air as surely as Tom did, for his own breath quickened as Tom raised his eyes to meet Chris’s, tongue peeking out to lick at his lips, as if already tasting the flavor of him there.

And when they kissed a second later, their small moans of relief, of familiarity and comfort, their fingers clutched each other tight, falling back onto the bed, the desk lamplight casting long shadows on the wall.

Chris fumbled with what little clothes they had on, but he finally had Tom naked beneath him. He held back a moment and took the sight of Tom in, lying so still, hands trembling, eyes wide on his face. And then lower, to his flat belly and smooth hips, to the dark shadow of his groin, and further down to his pale thighs, already parting for him.

“Can I try something?” he heard himself whisper, eyes flicking to Tom’s face.

In the sharp light from the desk lamp, Tom’s skin was cast golden, lashes jumping shadows across his cheeks with every blink. He swallowed and then nodded, craning his neck to watch as Chris moved to position himself. Lying between Tom’s thighs, his breath ghosted over the heat of his crotch. Easing his thighs further apart, Chris stared down at the cleft between Tom’s cheeks, that soft entrance he had so familiarized himself with for almost an entire year.

Licking his lips, he raised his eyes to Tom, lying so still, head resting on one of their pillows, his own eyes heavy lidded with desire and curiosity.

“I don’t want to startle you,” he whispered.

“Why would it startle me?” came the whispered reply.

“Because I’ve never done it before.”

“And do you want to?”

Chris nodded. “Very much.”

Tom blinked and relaxed back against the pillow again. “I trust you.”

“Thank you. Tell me if you want me to stop. Yank on my hair, anything. Okay?”

Tom smiled, his cheeks dimpling. “Okay,” he whispered.

Keeping his hands braced on the inside of Tom’s thighs, Chris eyed that spot he so desperately wanted to taste, but held himself off just long enough to lay gentle kisses to the curve of the legs spread before him, biting a trail to the crease where Tom’s legs met his hips. They would be purple by morning, like a long string of dark berries.

Tom was breathing shallow, hands splayed over his belly, fingers twitching. Head back, his mouth hung open, moaning quietly at every bite Chris took of his skin. And while he was distracted enough, Chris took his chance, bending his head low and burying his face between Tom’s cheeks.

He heard Tom gasp above him, his entire body shuddering. He drew his legs up with a startled whine and tried to close them, but Chris gently pried them apart again, massaging the quivering muscles with his thumbs. He continued, snaking his tongue out to the swipe at his entrance, moaning at the aroma of it, the slightly bitter taste. Anxious to be closer, Chris curved his hands under Tom’s buttocks and lifted him in his palms, tugging him nearer.

Tom gave a small, strangled cry, hands throw out to the sides for balance. Neck straining, he panted and watched Chris work his mouth over his— _his_ _—_ oh god. But his tongue, flicking over him, pushing against him, wiggling to gain entrance, Tom was dizzy with disbelief, with something that felt strangely akin to flames dancing over his vision.

Blinking up at the ceiling, he mumbled, a wash of desire flooding over him.

Making the tiniest moans, Chris gathered Tom to his face, eyes flickering shut, mouth widening over him, seemingly entranced by Tom and his scent and his taste, and it amazed Tom that Chris could so easily lose himself in something so…so _personal_ , so intimate. But, Tom thought as he arched his back, trying to get used to the sensation of a wet tongue at his entrance, this was _different_. Willing himself to simply breathe, Tom relaxed his shoulders and unclenched his hands, running them over his chest, eyes drifting to his pelvis tilted up and rocking with Chris’s determined mouth.

He was hard, Tom realized, watching a drip of pre-come bead at the tip of his cock. Smearing as much of it as he could over the rest of his shaft, Tom started fisting himself, his moans quietly echoing Chris’s.

Heavy lidded blue eyes peeked over at him and another groan sounded in the room when Chris realized what he was doing. Popping off with a quiet smack, Chris gently set Tom back down on the bed and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Crawling closer, he held himself above Tom, staring straight down.

“Did you like it? Was it too much?”

Still jerking himself, Tom smiled, even though his face was beet red. “It was different. I never expected you to—but yes, I liked it.” He nodded down at his cock. “Really liked it.” Casting his eyes down, Tom swallowed, suddenly unsure. “Did…did you?”

“I fucking loved it! I want to eat you out all the time now. Please. Can I?” Chris’s grin was pure excitement, as evidenced by the impressive tent in his boxers.

“I’m still a little embarrassed!”

“Babe, why? Don’t be,” Chris whispered, cupping his chin. “You are amazing. I wasn’t kidding when I said I plan on eating you out all…the…time.”

Face burning, Tom felt a daring bloom in his chest, and he took Chris’s elbow, squeezing it hard.

“Flip me,” he breathed. “Flip me over, Chris. Please. Flip me. Take me that way.”

Chris’s smile faded, and he tilted his head. “Are you sure, baby?”

They hadn’t had sex from behind since before the incident with Shaw. It made Tom nervous when he couldn’t see Chris directly, making it easier for his imagination to take a turn for the worse, for his panic to rise and he was struggling to turn back around and look Chris in his eyes.

“Please,” Tom insisted. “I’m close and I—I miss it and I want you to come in me that way.”

Not needing to be told twice, Chris climbed off Tom and then took him by his slender hips, turning him over in one smooth motion. He propped him on his hands and knees, reached under the mattress for their bottle of lube, and then pushed in a finger, followed by another, stretching him. He trailed his hand up the slim lines of Tom’s back, his thumb skimming over the two dimples that appeared at his tailbone. Bending, he kissed those dimples softly, moving his fingers in and out, watching Tom watch him, a small fire building in his gut. Finally aligning himself at his entrance, Chris thrust in, both groaning at the sudden contact.

“Yes,” Tom moaned, head bouncing as Chris started a quick rhythm, pushing into him over and over again. “Yes, Chris…oh god, darling. Right…there—Chris, oh god— _fuck._ _”_

Bottom angled high, he collapsed down, cheek pressed to the sheets, Chris’s fingers digging into his hipbones. The stretch was good. Chris’s width had always felt amazing to him, and it would be only that much better if he could find that spot inside that made Tom forget how to breathe, or why.

Shifting on his knees, Tom adjusted the angle, head bowed low, watching his own cock bobbing beneath him. Drawing his knees an inch closer together, he shifted again—and then a burst of white flashed over his vision and he whimpered.

“Right there,” he gasped, turning to look at Chris over his shoulder. “Darling, right there. You’re—you’re hitting it.”

Chris bit his lip and snapped his hips faster. Curling his fingers over the edge of the mattress, Tom held on tight, bouncing under the onslaught. He was so close, his abdomen contracting with his pending release.

“Please—,” Tom moaned, and then he felt a hand on the back of his head, pushing gently until he was pressed to the mattress again. And when Chris wrapped that same hand around the nape of his neck, squeezing gently, Tom lost all control and came with a muffled cry. He shot his load over the sheets, pulsing, pulsing, it kept coming, until he was sobbing quietly with relief.

At his back, Chris was finishing, smacking his hips hard against him before stuttering to a stop, the gushing warmth inside telling of his own orgasm.

Breathing hard, they remained frozen, Tom blinking dazedly at the headboard. And then Chris pulled out, cupping his hand over Tom’s entrance, to soothe or keep his come from spilling out, Tom wasn’t sure, but he liked the gesture regardless.

He felt boneless, his limbs heavy and useless. Chris took him by his waist and carefully flipped him over, letting Tom rest on his side, making sure to avoid the wet spot left on the sheets. Running for some tissues, he returned and cleaned them up, but Tom was barely conscious. He just felt the room darken suddenly. The bed dipped beside him a minute later and then they were clinging to each other, Tom’s face pressed to Chris’s chest. Chris rubbed his back, his hand lingering on his neck, as if remembering.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked, rubbing a cheek over Tom’s hair.

“More than okay,” he answered, still in the haze of his orgasm. “That was so lovely. Thank you, Christopher.”

He could hear Chris’s smile in the way he breathed, warmth gusting over his curls. “Thank _you_ , Tom. You never cease to amaze me.”

Tom smiled at that, already half-asleep. He murmured anyway, and Chris murmured back, before he lost sense of everything.

**

“You have two and I have one.”

Sounding far away, Tom’s voice echoed in his head and Chris blinked his eyes open. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains and some stupid birds were chirping away happily just outside. He yawned and then flipped over, coming face to face with Tom, who seemed to have been awake for a while.

“Morning,” he rasped.

“Morning,” Tom smiled.

“Did you say something?”

“That you have two favors down. And I only have one.”

Chris grinned. “Is this a race?”

“No.”

“It could be.”

“I was only keeping count.”

“I want you to know that even after we each meet our three favors, I will continue to fuck you and lick you and bite you and suck you and do all kinds of things to you for years and years to come.”

A blush of red rose over Tom’s neck and Chris stared, adoring that Tom could still blush even after all this time.

“As will I,” he said seriously, despite the laugh that waited to bubble over just beneath the surface.

“Then why keep count?”

“It was your idea!”

“I like riling you up.”

“Oh, hush. You’re so competitive.”

“ _I_ _’_ _m_ competitive?” He rushed Tom across the bed and began tickling his ribs. Tom yelped and started giggling, trying to get away. “I’m competitive, huh? Take it back,” Chris growled playfully, latching onto Tom’s neck lightly, so as not to leave any lingering teeth marks.

“No!” Tom gasped, laughing, squirming against the fingers running like quick worms over his waist. “Mercy, mercy, please!”

Chris only strengthened his attack and they rolled together with even more giggles and growls.

A voice rose in the hallway outside. “You’re going to be late for school!”

They froze, both breathing hard, and then started laughing again, trying and failing to shush each other.

“C’mon, puppy,” Chris said, climbing off the bed and pulling Tom to his feet. “Let’s go learn stuff. But this will be continued,” he promised, steering Tom toward the door and smacking his ass lightly. Tom jumped and turned to him with wide eyes.

Chris raised an eyebrow at him. “You liked that, didn’t you?” When Tom’s face reddened, and he said nothing, Chris groaned. “Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“Do it again,” Tom whispered. “Just once more.”

Chris grabbed Tom by the arm and hauled him against his chest. Keeping his eyes on him, he ran a hand over Tom’s ass, the cotton of his boxers smooth under his fingers. And then he lay another solid smack, open-palmed. Tom jumped again, gasping, fingers curling around the back of Chris’s neck.

“Why does that feel so good?” he asked, brows puckered together. “It’s like a line straight to my groin.”

“I don’t know. It feels good to me, too.”

Their eyes stayed locked on each other, both hard and not quite knowing how to proceed.

“We’re going to be late,” Tom whispered, taking his hand and pulling him to the bathroom. They didn’t mention it again, but kept glancing at each other in the mirror over the sink, toothbrushes foamed and messy, trying to hide their shy smiles.

**

Jason plopped down next to Tom on the edge of the stage, sweat dripping down his face. They were nearly finished completing the set for opening night. It still wouldn’t be for another two weeks, but they were ahead of schedule. The rest of the time would be spent locking down lines and practicing the more difficult scenes.

“Ad nauseam,” Jason muttered, smoothing back his dark hair and huffing out an exhausted sigh.

Tom smiled, just a bit jealous that Jason would be able to perform in front of the audience opening night, and he would be stuck backstage.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jason tossed an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “I wish I had my Puck with me!”

Laughing, Tom ribbed him playfully. “Not this time, I’m sad to say. But, I’m sort of grateful too. With all that happened right smack in the middle of the semester, there’s just no way I could have focused enough to memorize lines and rehearse enough to be any kind of good.”

Jason shrugged. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. You’re easily one of the best.”

Smiling, Tom looked down. “Thanks, Jason.”

“Listen, Jules wanted me to tell you that the limo is all set to go. And that we will pick you and Chris up at his house at 7:30 that evening.”

“Okay. Great! I’ll tell Chris.”

Prom wasn’t for another three weeks, just a week after the spring play, but it was best to get all the reservations made ahead of time. But before that, and graduation, and the spring play, would be the trial. And it was the last thing Tom wanted to attend. But he would have to. If it meant Shaw would get put away for a long time, he would do it.

**

“Tuxes are ready.”

Tom looked up from his history textbook. Chris was spread out beside him on the floor, smacking loudly on his gum. He pressed his mouth right next to Tom's ear and blew cool breath on it, grinning when Tom squirmed and gave him a shove.

"Let's go!" he said excitedly, propping Tom's pencil between the pages to hold his place. "I wanna see you in it!"

"Oh, alright," Tom conceded, unable to hide the smile growing on his face. He pushed himself up from the floor, about to draw a leg under him to stand, when Chris's hand landed solidly, but gently, on his ass. His mouth fell open in a surprised exhale and he moaned quietly.

Head hanging, he took a moment to breathe before slowly turning to Chris, eyes wide.

Chris's hand was back on the curve of his backside, smoothing it slowly up and down. And when Tom pushed up the rest of the way, crawling on his knees to him, Chris met him halfway, both kneeling and reaching, their arms wrapping tightly around each other's shoulders and bellies flush. They didn't kiss. Nor did they say anything, only held one other, Chris's hand cupped protectively over the back of Tom's head, Tom's face buried in his neck, reminded, once more, of the meaning of trust.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So I know this was a longer wait than usual, and I'm sorry. I have a couple of things in my personal life that are super distracting and stressing me out. But I try to write whenever I get the chance. Thank you for being so patient.  
> Also, this chapter was just plain difficult to write! A friendly reminder that I am not a lawyer, but I did my best. There is lots of angst and tears and courtroom stuff in this one. 
> 
> I want to give the biggest shoutout to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan, for her constant support and help. I cry to her a lot and she is the bestest at everything and I LOVE YOU. I'm spamming you with Chris and Tom later <3

“Sir, have you ever considered that what happened to your son is a direct result of his unnatural proclivities—.”

Chris, ambling down the stairs, froze when he heard a scuffle at the door followed by James’ voice, a low growl.

“Get the fuck off my property.”

Hurrying down the rest of the way, Chris saw Tom’s father at the front door, shoving a man down the front walk. The man, accompanied by another woman, was holding some pamphlets in his hand, pamphlets that he dropped when he stumbled amid the potted plants Diana had lining the lawn. They floated to the ground, littering the grass like battered flowers. Or weeds.

The woman lunged to catch the man before he fell, and they backed away slowly, looking at James. “We can help him! We have therapy available to boys like him. Camps he can attend. He just needs to be shown the right path—.” Catching sight of Chris at the door, the man pointed. “That one, too! They can be made normal—.”

James, tossing a glance back at Chris, was visibly trembling. Chris ran down the walk and stood beside him, circling an elbow with his hand. “I said to get off my property,” James said. “Shame on you! These boys have been through enough. Leave! Before I call the cops.”

The two made a hasty exit down the driveway, getting into their station wagon and driving away without another word.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked, touching James on his shoulder.

James nodded, a bit out of breath. He ran a hand through his hair and then looked down. He picked up the pamphlets, read their titles, and then huffed out in disgust. He tore them in two and tossed them in the recycling bin by the side of the house.

“Fucking unbelievable,” he muttered, almost to himself. Chris trailed him. “Acting as if straight boys and girls don’t get molested. As if it’s exclusive to homosexuals only. The fucking nerve. It’s a sick thing to be coming to the homes of the abused and talking about some kind of twisted sexual rehabilitation.”

He looked up and met Chris’s eyes, blinking as if he’d suddenly remembered he was there.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Chris shrugged, starting to understand something about the world and deciding that moment not to let it cut him.

“Where’s Tom?”

“Upstairs putting his shoes on. Our tuxes are ready.”

James opened his mouth to say something when Tom came bounding out the door. “I’m ready,” he said, catching sight of them. He frowned. “Is everything alright?”

Chris smiled. “Yeah, babe. I was helping your dad with the trash.” He turned to James. “We’re heading out.”

"Okay, be back early,” James said, nodding in a way that told Chris he appreciated him not telling Tom what just happened. “Have you two decided on a color? I mean, that’s how these things work, right? You pick a color?”

Tom smiled and took Chris’s hand. “Yeah, dad. Couples usually match colors. We chose Byzantium.”

James smiled, a little confused. “Byz—?”

“It’s purple,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. He leaned away when Tom made to pinch him. “It’s a dark purple. And very lovely,” he added, smiling wide at Tom’s narrowed gaze.

“Alright, well be careful and remember you have school tomorrow.”

“We’ve never forgotten, dad,” Tom laughed.

“Come by for dinner tomorrow, okay? Your mother is making spaghetti.”

“’kay, will do! Bye!”

At the shop in the dressing room, Tom fiddled with his cufflinks while Chris huffed and puffed at working a knot in his tie.

“You’ll wrinkle it,” Tom muttered, finally edging the small pearl-tipped bud through the hole on his sleeve.

“It was already wrinkled, the blasted thing,” Chris replied, yanking off the tie and tossing it on the bench. He gave Tom a glance over, smiling slowly. “You look hot,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.

"Stop," he returned in the same whisper. "She'll hear you."

"Fuck if I care," Chris said, snaking his arms around Tom's waist and inhaling at his neck.

The old woman who ran the shop probably thought they were two good friends coming to try on their tuxes together, excited to impress their dates with how handsome they look, and not in any way romantically involved with each other. They decided to humor her so she wouldn’t take off the discount from their rental price for being such 'lovely and wholesome boys'.

When they finally had their tuxes on in some kind of appropriate order, they stood before the mirror.

Tom had to admit, they looked pretty great. Both tuxes and waistcoats were black, but where Chris wore a purple tie over a white shirt, Tom wore a purple bow tie over his white shirt, with black button covers disappearing beneath his waistcoat. Silk splotches of purple graced their chests, the sharp tips of their pocket squares peeking out.

"Byzantium," Chris whispered, looking them up and down.

Tom elbowed him. "I think it looks good! Don't you?"

"I do! And I like how you have a bow tie and I have a regular tie. It doesn't look like we're wearing a catering uniform." Unable to complete the knots, Chris's tie and his own bow tie hung limply on their chests, but it was enough to see the whole picture.

"One of our parents can help us out, I'm sure," Tom said, as they shrugged back into their jeans and T-shirts.

Tom's phone beeped and he checked it. It was a text from Jason.

"He got the picture I sent him," he said, showing Chris. "Said we look great. Told you."

"I never said we didn't, puppy." Chris stole a quick kiss and then winked at Tom as he opened the dressing room door. He paid for both their tuxes and they carried their plastic-wrapped bundles to the car.

"I'm so excited, babe!" Chris said, taking Tom's hand across the seat.

Tom smiled. "I am, too. But a little nervous. I can't help it."

"We’re going to have a blast. That's the rule. All of our friends will be there and no one will bother us. Okay?"

The wind blowing through the window ruffled his hair as Tom swiveled his head toward Chris and grinned. "Okay, love."

**

The day of the trial dawned cloudy, with columns of sunlight filtering out to land over the mountains in the east. Tom stared out the window, watching the puffs of white and grey float over the sky, wondering what it would feel like to be so free.

Their lawyer, Alan Marshall, had stopped by the night before to go over the questions that would be asked by the defense and prosecution.

“You just have to concentrate on those of us sitting at your table. The DA will handle your case, but I will be right there next to you. Don’t worry. Elisabeth Claire is fantastic. She’ll keep you on track and also make sure they don’t get too aggressive with their line of questioning. Remember, don’t let them get to you. They’ll try to make you uncomfortable, or get a rise out of you. They want to make it seem as if you’re something other than the kind and intelligent young man we all know you to be. But we won’t let them harass you, Tom. Focus on us and it’ll be over before you know it.”

Tom had nodded, swallowing thickly, wondering if a person could ever get used to the sick feeling in their stomach, and live with it forever, if they would eventually never notice it.

Now, he and Chris were dressed in pressed black slacks and button down shirts. Forgoing buttoning the cuff of his sleeve over his cast, Chris had rolled the material to just above the plaster. Their dads had loaned them each a tie, and they had stood before their dresser, chins in the air, while James knotted them patiently.

There was a quiet unease in the house. Leonie and Craig waited downstairs with Diana. James was in Tom’s bedroom with the boys.

“Tom,” he said, catching his son’s eye. “This is going to go just fine. The evidence will tell the whole story. They just need you to say some of it in your own words, to show the jury that there is a face behind the abuse, behind this crime. That you are a person who was hurt. By someone who should have protected you and kept that faith as an educator.”

“And don’t look at him if you don’t want to,” Chris added, standing beside him. “He doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Tom took a deep breath and nodded, wringing his hands before him. “Okay,” he said at last. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”

James smiled and cupped his neck. “Good, son. Let’s go.”

They had been instructed to arrive early. Everyone piled into the Hemsworth’s SUV, Chris and Tom in the very back, hands clenched tight. While Craig drove, their fathers fell into a conversation about the upcoming world cup or world match, Tom wasn’t sure. He knew they would have talked about anything but the trial, to keep his nerves calm.

“Darling,” Tom whispered, and Chris bent his head close. “Are you wearing your necklace?”

Chris pulled out his silver lightning bolt chain from beneath his shirt and showed it to Tom.

“Do you mind if I hold onto it? During?”

Hurrying to unclasp it, Chris let it dangle and pool in Tom’s palm. “Anything you want, babe. I’ll give to you.”

Tom ducked his head shyly. “Thank you.”

They were directed to park behind the main courthouse, and there, in the dim, hollow dark of the parking deck, their lawyer met them.

“Good morning, everyone,” Mr. Marshall said, shaking hands all around. “District Attorney Claire will be here shortly.”

He led them through the doorway, where they were scanned and waved through.

Tom’s hands were starting to get clammy, and he tried to pull away from Chris, but Chris held on tighter, eyeing him sideways with a mix of understanding and admonition.

Sitting huddled together on the bench just outside the courtroom, Mr. Marshall talked them through everything one last time. “Okay, it’s really very simple. The prosecution, that’s us, and the defense, that’s Mr. Shaw, will give opening statements. This is just to inform the jury and the court of the reason why we are all here. Following that, we will present our cases to the jury. A jury can consist of six to twelve people, depending on how big the case is. Our case will have twelve jurors for sure. Now, the prosecution always has first witness. So, Tom, Mrs. Claire won’t be calling you up until the end. After that, there will be a brief break, and then we’ll come back and the defense will bring up its witnesses, one of whom will be Mr. Shaw. His jaw is wired shut, from what I understand, so he will be communicating through the use of a dry-erase board. If everything goes for longer than expected, then the trial could continue tomorrow morning. It’s not unusual for trials to take days or even weeks. But we believe ours won’t last that long. Once each side has the chance to present its case and questions slash cross-examines the witnesses, the jury will leave the room and deliberate the evidence and testimonies. Unfortunately, there’s no way to know how long a jury will take to come to a decision. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, we cannot force them to hurry. But once they come back with a verdict, the judge will arrange a time for the sentencing hearing, provided Shaw gets a guilty verdict. And we have every confidence he will. Do you have any questions?”

No one said a word. Chris was watching Tom, quiet as ever.

When they were finally led in, Tom shrank back from the size of the courtroom. Across the way was the bench, where the judge would sit. It was elevated slightly from the rest of the room. To the right was the witness and jury box, also empty. There was a railing separating the front of the room from the back. The gallery, comprised of stiff wooden pews that would seat any curious spectators, held only a few people. A small area near the doors was cordoned off for the media and police presence.

Mr. Marshall led the way through the aisle and toward the railing. Their parents and Chris would sit directly behind the railing, and Tom and the lawyers would sit at the desk on the other side.

Chris was reluctant to let Tom go. Despite the few pairs of curious eyes on them, they took a moment while their parents spoke to their lawyers to sit together at the far end of the bench.

“You look at me, Tom. When you need to, okay? When you feel like it’s becoming too much. You look at me. And it’ll be over soon.”

Tom nodded, clutching Chris’s hand tightly. He was a bit shaken, his stomach tied up in knots, his palms sweating. He could only nod, wondering where his voice had gone, if it would be that much worse sitting up there in front of everyone, their eyes like tiny knives on his skin.

Chris put his arm around Tom’s shoulders and pulled him in. “It’s going to be okay, baby. Nobody here is going to look at you and blame you. It’s not your fault and everyone knows it. This is just procedure and then you’re free of him.”

Together, they watched the bustle of court life unfold around them. Slowly, the gallery behind them started to fill. The noise level rose steadily as more voices joined together in murmuring speculation, camera tripods set and ready, journalists and TV anchors prepping with their producers at their side.

Tom felt a well of emotion crest through him and he quickly turned to Chris to try to compose himself. But the tears crested under his lashes and heat flushed his neck.

“They’re all,” he started, licking his lips. “They’re all going to wonder and judge and—.”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Chris whispered, rubbing his back and keeping an eye on those around them. “It’s okay. They are here for the facts. They want to know what happened because it’s human nature. But they know this was wrong. And that’s why we’re here. To tell everyone what happened and why he’s going to be put away. Breathe with me. In and out.”

Tom did, and felt his chest loosen incrementally. He blinked his tears away, proud of himself for not letting any fall. That would be the exact kind of moment the photographers and reporters behind him were all waiting to catch, like vultures circling the carrion. The boy victim overly emotional even before the trial started.

An eruption of flashes sounded behind them and they turned to look. District Attorney Elisabeth Claire walked in through the courtroom doors accompanied by two other people, assistants by the look of them. She carried a missive in her hand, which she studied, and a briefcase in the other. She was blonde, slim and elegant, with soft traces of makeup and two dangling pearl earrings. She wore a sharp navy pantsuit with a silk cream-colored blouse beneath. She looked like she meant business, and the boys felt an immediate sense of ease in her presence.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice deeper than they expected. She shook hands with their parents and Mr. Marshall, and then approached Chris and Tom. She smiled kindly and sat beside them.

Extending her hand, she introduced herself. “Chris, Tom, I’m Elisabeth Claire. I’m sorry that we haven’t met before this, but my office and I have been very busy preparing your case. Mr. Marshall took good care of you, prepared you for what’s to come?”

Both boys nodded.

She smiled. “Good. I’m very sorry this happened to you. The both of you. Both terrible things in their own way. But this is why we’re here. The defense is going to say this is all a crime of passion, hoping that will minimize jail time. While they may try, they have nothing against us. The truth will out. And that’s going to make all the difference.”

The way she said it, her voice soft in its assurance, had them nodding, because it was difficult to disagree with her, and it was suddenly clear to them how she became District Attorney. She garnered hope with only a few words; people listened to her when she spoke, and she spoke with such promise and confidence, looking you right in the eye. Tom admired that greatly. It was unnerving only if you had something to hide.

She left them with another firm handshake and soft, encouraging words, and then she slipped into the huddle of lawyers already assembled at the prosecution table.

Chris felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see Jason standing there, wearing his Sunday best. Beside him stood Julie, and two adults who he assumed were Jason’s parents.

“Hey guys,” Jason said quietly, throwing a cautious look around. He looked nervous.

They all hugged, Julie squeezing in with them when someone’s long arm dragged her close.

“This is insane,” Jason whispered, when they drew apart. “Have you seen him yet?”

“No,” Tom said. “I hope I never have to.”

“You will,” Jason said, a little sadly. “Just this last time, Tommy. And then it’s done.”

It’s the essence of what everyone kept telling him, but Tom still had trouble digesting the fact that he had to see him at all. He thought briefly, longingly, of the now-impossible plea bargain.

When Elisabeth beckoned to Tom a few minutes later, he felt his stomach flip flop, because this was it. This was the moment he had to leave his family behind the barrier and join the people who were trained and educated to defend him, and he could do nothing but stand silent beside them and trust them as the man who had abused him stood just ten feet away.

They sat him at the table and handed him some sheets with notes and go-to responses for when he took the stand, and he studied them, trying his best to commit them to memory. It was material he had already seen, but last minute reviewing was never a bad idea.

He peeked behind his shoulder and saw his parents, smiling at him and nodding, Chris’s parents just next to them, and then Chris himself, smile so soft and private and just for him, his heart. Tom knew Chris was trying hard to look encouraging, but there was a trace of worry in his features, in the way his brows were held tight. Tom felt tears threaten and he willed his heart to quit its rapid swelling in his chest.

Tom smiled back and then, before he caught sight of just how full the gallery had become, he faced forward again, the red unblinking dots of all the cameras lined at the back of the room searing behind his eyelids.        

Heads swiveled to the door at the front of the room as a deadly quiet fell over the court. Out of the door walked a man in a suit whom Tom had never seen before, followed by…Shaw.

Bursts of light flashed from the back of the courtroom, casting Shaw in bright flares of white, and Tom felt his heart collapse in on itself. Sweat sprouted on his palms and he strained for breath as his chest constricted painfully.

Escorted by two police officers and dressed in a plain, baggy brown suit with a black tie, Shaw kept his head ducked low from the snapping cameras, squinting. He didn’t see Tom right away. His hands were handcuffed before him, curled into each other as he shuffled to the defense table. It was from that angle that Tom saw his face directly.

Mostly one giant bruise, Shaw’s face still held severe traces of Chris’s beating, despite weeks having passed between the incident and his presence in the courtroom. There were diagonal white bandages over his right cheekbone, which was swollen and bore stitches from the reconstructive surgery to the shattered bone there. A patch obscured his right eye, the black strap wound tight over his left brow and around the back of his head. Tom wondered vaguely if Shaw had indeed lost his sight in that eye. Dark bruises extended to the other side of his face, remnants of his broken nose. His skin was puffy and discolored, and behind his thinly pressed mouth, his jaw was wired shut, broken teeth no doubt filed down to prevent further damage.

He had lost a lot of weight, his suit hanging off him, his neck and the parts of his face that weren’t swollen looked thin and sallow.

Tom’s stomach twisted, for such injuries were sickening, but his heart alighted in a fast pace, knowing they were delivered at the hands of the boy who loved him, the boy who risked everything to save him. They were wounds that were nothing compared to what Shaw really deserved.

Fists clenched in his lap, Tom gripped Chris’s necklace, the sharp edges of the tiny lightning bolt jabbing into his palm. He leaned back, wanting as much space between himself and Shaw. Images assaulted his mind, manic eyes backlit by the living room ceiling lights; phantom touches, rough and stabbing, knives cutting into him from behind, the breath on his face, the whispers and the dirty promises.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked up, gasping. Elisabeth stood at his side, smiling down gently. "You're doing great," she mouthed, patting his shoulder.

Tom nodded and swallowed past the bile rising in his throat. He glanced behind him again and saw Chris glaring at Shaw, his jaw muscles bunched and jumping.

It was when Tom faced forward again that he felt all the breath leave his body, like a solid punch to the gut.

His eyes were pulled in toward Shaw, who had finally caught sight of him, brows drawn in, as if in plea, shackled hands clenched on the table before him.

Frozen half way to his seat, Shaw hovered in an awkward hunch, his one visible eye watering hideously. He was mumbling something, leaning toward Tom, when his lawyer took him by the elbow and guided him to sit down. He never looked away from Tom, even as his lawyer took the seat beside him and spoke quietly.

Horrified, Tom looked down and then glanced behind him again, needing to see Chris. But Chris, noting the attention Shaw placed on Tom, was sitting forward in his seat, hands clamped to the edge of the scarred wooden pew. A furious glow had come over him; he seemed to vibrate with rage. Mouth parted, Tom could see the gritted edge of teeth, the narrowed blue eyes, murder written on his lovely face.

Leonie placed a hand on Chris's knee and said some soft words to him before Tom turned away, his heart in his throat.

Avoiding looking in Shaw's direction, Tom watched as the jury filed in from a back room, a dozen regular looking men and women. They were sworn in and took their seats in the box designated for them.

The bailiff bade everyone rise and announced the judge presiding over the trial, a man by the name of Joseph Connor.

A white man, somewhere in his sixties maybe, entered the room from a door behind the bench. He wore black judge's robes and carried several files in his arms. His hair was white peppered with blond, curled enough to give an idea of how thick it used to be in his youth.

In a voice deep, but slightly watery, he called the court to order.

Listing the number of accounts that were being brought against Shaw, breaking and entering, trespassing, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, sexual abuse, sexual assault and harassment, and stalking, the judge also included a few that had been added to incorporate his rape of Jason.

What the police found at Shaw’s house would be entered into evidence, as well as pictures of Tom’s wounds, and the witness’ testimonials. But first, the opening statements.

Elisabeth Claire walked around the table and stepped into the middle of the open space set before the judge’s bench.

Tom watched her move, long easy steps, a pen held loosely in her hands, a small smile on her face, not happy in the least, but one of a bearer of bad news.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Good morning. I’d like to speak to you all today briefly about trust. Trust is given easily, and sometimes just as easily, it is broken. But trust is given every day. It’s often unconsciously done, and we don’t realize that it was even there to begin with until it’s been broken. We trust the metro to run on schedule and get us to where we need to be. We trust established restaurants to have fresh food that won’t make us sick. We trust bridges, and roads and vehicles and airplanes to work as they should. We trust that our children, when sent to school to learn about the world and academics, will be safe. And that the teachers and educators do their best to shape their minds and provide them a solid education that will help them be successful in the future. Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing more shocking than when a teacher breaks that trust and preys on a student, whose mind and body has been entrusted to their care by you, by me, by all of us. During this trial, evidence will be displayed of the inexcusable events that took place on March 12th of this year.

On the night in question, the plaintiff, Tom Hiddleston, whom you see seated before you, was saying goodbye to his parents, who were leaving for dinner out with a colleague. All evening, Tom had been texting with his boyfriend, Chris Hemsworth, and the two were planning to meet later in the evening at Tom’s house. Shortly after Tom’s parents left, Tom’s phone died. He went upstairs to charge it in his bedroom and that’s when the horror of this tragic night begins. Upon entering his darkened room, Tom discovered Mr. Kenneth Shaw, a thirty-seven year old math teacher at Tom’s high school, the man you see seated before you, climbing in through his window. Tom fled, but was pursued by Mr. Shaw, down the stairs and to the front door, where he violently attacked Tom, slammed his head against the door and addressed Tom in a crude slur, threatening him not to run. Tom managed to escape Mr. Shaw’s grasp, running to the kitchen in an effort to call the police, where Mr. Shaw caught up with him and attempted to incapacitate Tom by smothering him with a rag soaked in chemicals. During the course of this trial, you will be presented with evidence of how this is not the first instance of the defendant using a rag soaked in chemicals to incapacitate a young man, another one of the defendant’s students, so that he could perpetrate a sex crime upon that student.”

She paused, letting the full effect of what she’d said sink in. Tom noticed some of the jury members shifting in their seats, others side-eyeing Shaw who, Tom was mortified to find out, was still staring at him, features held tight and fingers clawed on the table surface, as if trying to hold back an outburst.

“Tom fought, scratching Mr. Shaw down the side of his face, and then crawling to the living room, where Mr. Shaw caught him once more. Struggling to stay conscious from the burning chemicals and the full weight of a grown man trying to subdue him, Tom’s shorts were yanked down, he was punched in the face, and openly taunted by the defendant. The defendant then flipped Tom onto his stomach, where he was held down and then painfully violated, _sodomized_ with the index, middle, and ring fingers of Mr. Shaw’s right hand.” Elisabeth held each finger up as she named them, allowing the jury see the size and length of her own thin digits, letting them imagine what it would have felt like to have the fingers of a man twice her size and weight shoved brutally into them.

Someone in the back of the courtroom cleared their throat, and then all was silent again.

Folding her hands in front of her, Elisabeth continued. “It was at this point, concerned by Tom not returning his text messages, that Chris Hemsworth, the plaintiff’s boyfriend, ran at a full sprint from his house to Tom’s house. Tom’s parents, having forgotten a wallet in their upstairs bedroom, were returning to the house just as Chris came around the street corner on foot. They opened the front door together, where Chris, and Tom’s parents, found Tom in the living room, bleeding and unconscious on the living room floor, being restrained by the defendant, Mr. Shaw, who was lowering his zipper and looming threateningly over the young man. Chris raced to defend Tom, tackling Mr. Shaw away from his body, and becoming engaged in a physical fight with the defendant. During the altercation, Mr. Shaw broke Chris’s right wrist, effectively ending the boy’s season, not only as a starting player but also as team captain, for the high school’s basketball team. Had Chris not allowed his frightening suspicions to move him to action; had Tom’s parents not arrived back at that exact moment, then maybe this sick crime might have played out to its horrifying end. But Mr. Shaw was caught. The evidence with which you will be presented today will uphold each and every detail of these events. Our witnesses will attest to what they saw and heard that night. Those who love Tom did their best to protect him during this terrifying nightmare. And now we are asking you, the jury, to let the evidence speak for itself and show you that this man does not deserve to walk free. That what he did was a vicious crime and a gruesome violation of Mr. Hiddleston’s body, trust, and personhood. An adult, a _teacher_ , entrusted with the education and support of our young people, someone whom Tom, like any other student, looked to for safety and guidance, consciously and maliciously disregarded his position and all the responsibilities contained therein. The defendant, as the evidence will clearly show, premeditated and executed this abominable transgression against one of his students, an innocent young man. A young man, who just the few days before, was planning a beach trip with his boyfriend and their friends, had made preparations and packed a bag of towels and sunscreen and snacks and books to read during a restful little getaway after the grueling pace of the first half of his senior year. I trust, _all_ of us trust, that you the jury, will see the evidence as telling the truth of that awful night, and that the defendant should therefore be stripped of all his rights as a citizen and sent directly to prison, where those who commit such atrocities against others belong.”

She thanked them quietly and then returned to her seat beside Tom, sitting back and crossing her legs gracefully.

Tom, still uneasy about hearing himself spoken of so ardently and intimately in a room full of strangers, stared at her, somewhat in awe of her voice and quiet power. The room sat in stunned silence in the wake of her talk, people turning to each other with quick blinks, stirred and a bit agitated.

Judge Connor finished writing down some notes before announcing that the defense could proceed with its opening statement.

As Shaw’s lawyer rose, Tom felt his hearing drop down to an incessant buzz. Sweat sprouted on his brow, a drop rolling down his temple to slip unnoticed under the curve of his earlobe. As the other lawyer stepped into the space recently occupied by Elisabeth, gesturing to the judge and jury, as she had done, Tom heard almost none of what he said, ears catching only on phrases like ‘crime of passion’ and ‘led on’ and ‘not a minor’. What he could hear clearly, what was loud and reverberated through his head with every second, was the beat of his own heart, the shaky rise of his own breaths, the rasp of his fingertips rubbing together, Christopher’s chain coiled into a ball of silver.

It was getting harder to shrink back from the desperate gaze centered on him from just across the aisle. Tom could feel it, as he had always been able to, the weight of those eyes on his skin, crawling, prodding for a sensitive place to linger. He was reminded, briefly, of a hot summer day in a silent classroom, those same eyes pressed to his from across the distance of two desks. Only this time, there was no comforting warmth beside him, no leg stretched out in a show of protection, no wide smile and lazy eyes to help ease the tension bending his shoulders inch by inch.

Shaw, ignoring everyone but him, kept his one eye trained on Tom. Sitting back, hands cuffed in his lap, Shaw started a nervous leg jump, the heel of his foot bouncing against the carpeted floor. His lip twitched and the muscles in his cheek jumped. Tom was grateful not to have access to whatever internal monologue was playing out in Shaw’s head. But he had a feeling he might have heard some of it before.

Tom dropped his eyes, his chest tight with every unreleased breath.

And then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, a loud boom sounded and Tom gasped, snapping his head up.

Shaw was staring straight at him, and now everyone could see his bright, pleading gaze still focused on Tom. His shackled hands were splayed over the wooden surface of the table where he had slammed them down, the slap of skin and metal jolting everyone from their reserved silence. His lawyer, frozen mid-sentence in front of the jury box, gawked at him, as if personally offended that Shaw would cause such a scandal.

“Mr. Shaw, I will not have an outburst like that again,” Judge Connor said, looking at Shaw pointedly.

A whispering had started in the gallery and the judged banged his gavel, calling everyone to order.

“Counselor, control your client,” the judge warned.

But Shaw paid them no attention. His lips opened but his teeth wouldn’t separate from the wires lacing them shut and instead of whatever he wanted to say, only a low and broken moan came out, eyes pleading on Tom. Slightly panicked, Tom leaned back, bringing his hands to the root of his belly, the room closing in on him from all sides.

Beside him, Elisabeth and Mr. Marshall sat frozen in their seats, and along the walls and benches, reporters and visitors perked up, anxious for the next move. The two police officers standing by the rail shifted, hands lifting to palm their holstered guns.

Shaw moaned again, clearly trying to say something, broken syllables gurgled, muffled.

“Counselor,” the judge repeated, and heads swiveled from the judge to Shaw, and back again.

Shaw’s lawyer took two quick steps to Shaw’s side and bent down to whisper in his ear. Shaw shook his head, a low deep whine spilling from his clenched teeth. He slammed his hands down again and the lawyer straightened, turning to the judge.

“Might we request a brief recess, Your Honor?”

“You haven’t even finished your opening statement, Counselor,” Judge Connor reminded.

“My client needs a quick break.”

The judge sat back, tossing down his pen. “Fifteen minute recess allowed. I suggest you speak with your client about appropriate courtroom behavior.” He banged his gavel again and then slipped into the room behind the bench.

Shaw immediately stood, and as he took a step in Tom’s direction, his lawyer and the two police officers were at his side, pulling him the opposite way. He turned as they walked, trying to keep Tom in his field of vision, but then he and his escorts disappeared through the side doorway and out of sight.

Tom sat shaking, fingers gripping his knees. There was a bustle of motion around him. Hands touched his shoulder, words were whispered over him and at him, but he couldn’t see for the tears that had gathered in his eyes again.

From behind him, he heard his father’s voice.

“What on earth…?”

Elisabeth stood and gathered a few folders. “Everyone, follow me. We can meet in one of the conference rooms.”

Tom felt someone take his elbow and then he was walking out the same door Shaw had gone through, colors blurring past, down a scuffed tile floor and into a hallway. The heavy and familiar weight of an arm draped over his shoulders and Tom smelled the scent of the sun. Another turn and then he was being ushered into a room where he was being seated again. A warm hand stayed curled in his own.

He looked up. Chris was sitting beside him, lips moving. And behind him stood Tom’s parents, concerned faces sad and a little afraid. Across the table Elisabeth and Mr. Marshall sat down, flanked by their two assistants.

Tom blinked and all sound came rushing back to him.

“Babe?”

“Son, please say something.”

“Tom, are you alright? Would you like some water?” Elisabeth peered at him, elegant brows puckered.

Tom nodded numbly and one of her assistants darted out the door.

It was so quiet and all eyes were on him again.

“What was that?” he finally said, and it was as if a release button had been set. His parents sank into their seats and Elisabeth closed her folder before walking toward him. 

The assistant returned and handed him a bottle of water. He took a grateful sip.

“Honestly, Tom, I’m not sure what that was. Mr. Shaw had something of an outburst. Even his lawyer looked shocked. But we will be ready for anything that comes our way once we return to that room.”

“He seemed like he was trying to say something,” Diana said, leaning forward.

“His jaw is wired shut,” James said quietly. “But he was definitely trying to say something to Tom. That was plainly obvious.”

There was a knock at the door and a clerk poked his head in. “District Attorney Claire?”

Elisabeth straightened. “Yes?”

“Judge Connor is requesting your presence in his chambers.” And then the clerk was gone.

Elisabeth frowned. She met Mr. Marshall’s eyes across the table.

“This is highly unusual,” Mr. Marshall said.

“Indeed it is.” She turned to Tom and his parents with an excited glint in her eyes. “But if I had to guess, I would say that perhaps Mr. Shaw has had a change of heart. I think he took one look at you, Tom, and it all came crumbling down on him. He hasn’t seen you since the night of the attack. And having what happened presented to him through my opening statement, I wonder if the direct accusations, combined with seeing Tom in person, haven’t had some effect on him. Being as single-mindedly obsessed as we know him to be, I wouldn’t be surprised.” She smiled and touched his arm softly. “This could be a good thing. This might be avoided entirely. Wait here and someone will escort you back to the courtroom, okay? I’ll be in shortly.”

Mr. Marshall began speaking quietly with her two assistants as soon as she exited.

Tom turned to his family.

“Darling,” his mother said, coming to stand next to him. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m just a bit shaken. He looked…”

“Manic,” his father finished for him, jaw clenched.

Chris was silent next to him, looking a bit pale himself. His two hands cradled Tom’s left, his thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. The feel of his gaze was entirely different and Tom soaked it in, breathing easier.

They were summoned after a few more minutes and were led back to the courtroom, where all conversation ceased. There were the quiet, automatic whines of lenses zooming and pictures snapping, but no one said a word. Chris and Tom’s parents moved to sit just behind Tom, and all resigned themselves to wait.

When the two lawyers stepped back into the room, there was still no sign of Shaw. His lawyer took his seat at the defense table, looking extremely harassed, fussing with his tie and flipping through files uselessly.

Elisabeth leaned over the rail and beckoned Tom’s parents close. She whispered to them and after sharing a complicated look between themselves, they nodded in response to her. Back at Tom’s side, she pulled him and Mr. Marshall into a small huddle.

“He’s going to plead guilty.”

“What,” Mr. Marshall said, openly incredulous.

Elisabeth nodded. “He’s changed his plea. But he’s asked if he could say something to the court.” She winced. “So to speak.” She winced again.

“Say what?” Mr. Marshall put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Not something to Tom, surely.”

“I’m sure whatever he’s going to say—write—will mostly be for Tom. Tom, you don’t have to be present to hear this. We can ask for you to be removed from the room.”

Tom hesitated. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Some kind of admission from Shaw that what he did was wrong. What he did was hurt Tom in the worst way and even if it didn’t include an apology—not that that would ever be enough—there was a part that was curious as to the reason for this outburst and the plea change.

“I’ll stay,” he said, and Elisabeth nodded. He thought he detected a hint of approval in her face before she turned away.

A noise drew their attention and they watched as Shaw was led back into the courtroom, the two police officers holding each elbow. He was seated in the witness chair, the officers moving to stand to the side. A Bible was brought forth and Shaw placed his right hand on it as best he could. He was sworn in with muted grunts, and then he let his head hang, quiet. 

The judge banged his gavel.

“There has been an unprecedented development in this case,” Judge Connor started, folding his arms before him. “The defendant, Mr. Kenneth Shaw, has asked to change his plea. Due to the wiring in his jaw, he is unable to speak, but he will communicate through writing. Mr. Shaw,” he said, directing his gaze to Shaw. “Please begin.”

Shaw nodded and then wiped at his eye quickly. He was handed a white board and a black marker. For some minutes, he wrote, the squeak of the marker loud in the tension-riddled room.

Tom looked behind him at Chris, and was happy to find him already staring. Chris smiled, eyes shining as if by a fever, but Tom knew better. He nodded at Tom and put a hand on his chest.

Tom did the same, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

Finally, Shaw looked up and blinked, his one eye swiveling to find Tom, something heavy and imploring pooled there.

Tom swallowed, willing himself not to vomit.

“Alright,” Judge Connor said, after the bailiff handed him the white board. “On behalf of Mr. Shaw, I will read what has been written here, and have it be directed onto the official transcript as his testimony and change of plea. It is from this new confession that his sentencing will be decided. Let it be known that all evidentiary items will still be considered in the sentencing.” He cleared his throat and held the board before him. “’I am guilty.’”

Gasps rose throughout the room and the judge cast a stern look over everyone until it was quiet again.

“’I am guilty. For all the accounts of which I am charged, including those listed for Jason.’” The judge glanced at the stenographer typing furiously to record every word. “Let it be known that the defendant is referencing Jason Brent, the second student listed under this case.”

He continued. “’I followed him for months. I watched him with that boy. How they loved each other. It drove me to madness, that I couldn’t have Tom the way that boy had him. This has been ongoing, since the time last summer he took my math course to improve his grade. I can’t see what I did as wrong. But I admit to it regardless. And there is no point continuing on as normal if I cannot have him with me. I only tried to show him the extent of what I feel. I can’t understand why he couldn’t see. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I love him and will always love him.”

The judge put the board down with a frown.

Tom sat stunned, mouth parted, chest rising with stunted breaths. Shaw was still sitting in the witness box, head buried in his hands, shoulders shaking. A sob erupted from behind those trembling hands, broken and gutted.

Tom flinched and turned away, disgusted and humiliated.

“Do you attest to what you have written here, Mr. Shaw?” Judge Connor spoke, turning in his seat to face him.

Shaw said nothing, but continued to tremble.

“Mr. Shaw, we need you to ackno—.”

Shaw’s head snapped up, eye patch slightly askew. “ _Ye-sh_!”

A few of the jury members jumped, one woman clutching at her throat in surprise. Security personnel straightened, bracing themselves.

Looking at Tom again, Shaw’s face crumpled and he braced his hands on the rail of the witness stand. “ _Th-awm_.”

And suddenly Tom couldn’t be there a second longer. Couldn’t stand it a single moment longer, those eyes on him, that voice pushing past the wire-bound teeth, the looks of pity like pinpricks of heat on the back of his neck. He shoved his chair back and stumbled to his feet, tears blinding him, blurring everything into a watercolor palette of confusing colors and shapes.

There were flashes like lightning as he spun.

Vaguely, he heard Elisabeth call out to him in concern, the judge’s gavel pounding loud, snaps of light and creaks of wood as people shifted and craned to see him.

And then there were arms around him, wrapping him close, guiding him, pushing him.

Shaw was screaming somewhere in the background—“Th-awm! _Th-awmmm plzzz!”_

“No!” Tom gasped, spinning, letting strong arms handle him. “No, no.”

A door materialized and opened and then he was back in that cool hallway from before and he was crying and someone was shushing him gently.

Finally they stopped and it was quiet and someone just held him tight as he wept, clutching at their shirt, face pressed to the hard line of their shoulder.

“Baby,” Chris whispered, and Tom sobbed harder, because of course it was Chris. Of course it was him, fitting so neat and right against him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here now,” Chris said, voice thick, cradling Tom’s head. “Let it out, it’s okay. That sick fuck is gone now. He’s gone, babe. He’s gone.”

They leaned against the wall, their tears mixing as they pressed their cheeks together, clawing at each other, Tom’s fingers curling into his hair, desperate. There was no air, no air in this place, this place in his head, in his heart, in this space they were in. Where were they?

Chris drew back and grabbed his face, eyes wide. A wide palm folded over his neck.

“Babe, calm down. Baby, your pulse. It’s racing. Please breathe. I think you’re having some kind of—of attack or something!”

He couldn’t catch his breath, the crack in his chest was too great.

“Babe, breathe. Tom, come on, please. Breathe! Goddammit.” He turned away. “Hey! We need some help over here!”

Dots spotted his vision and darkness crept in from the sides, and Tom could hear them, his tiny frantic gasps, his throat closing fast. Chest so tight. Stomach cramping.

Chris’s face turned back, winking in and out of his vision, broken open in worry.

“Tom, please.”

Same words, same words, so different.

“Tom, don’t—.”

Tom blinked and then his knees buckled and he felt himself fall away. Arms snapped tight around him and Chris was yelling and Tom felt the cool, gentle kiss of the tile floor through the back of his shirt, aware, somewhat distantly, of the bite of silver in his palm, before losing consciousness entirely.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! The wait was terrible and I'm so sorry! I got busy with life and Half Moons and I was intent on finishing it, which I did. So, thank you for being so patient with me *hugs*
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> Big shoutout to my beta, duskyhuedladysatan, who got home from a super long trip and edited this monster. Seriously, I love you and you are the best <3

Voices.

Dim lights.

Soft padding beneath him.

Tom groaned and tried to shift, but hands were on him immediately, a calm, soothing female voice, familiar, telling him to lie back, to relax, that everything was okay, he was safe.

He cracked his eyes open, blinked a few times, and things slowly started to come into focus.

Leaning over him were Leonie, his parents, and Chris, whose face was closest, still unfocused a bit, making Tom’s eyes cross.

“Lean back a bit, Chris. Give him some room,” Leonie said, pulling Chris by his shoulder. But Chris, all bent brow and parted lips, remained close to Tom, hand in his hair, worried.

“Tom, do you want some water?”

“Son, how are you feeling?”

“Darling, you’re safe now. It’s all alright, love.”

What was happening? Why was he lying down?

“It’s okay, baby,” Chris whispered, no doubt reading the panic beginning to creep into Tom’s eyes. “Mom said you had a panic attack. But you’re better now. We’re here at the courthouse still. In an empty office.”

Tom tried sitting up again and this time hands circled his arms to help him. He swallowed, a bit shaken still, and looked around. They were indeed in some kind of spare office, a desk in the corner, a center table with chairs around it, one wall entirely of smoked glass, with shadows darting past, unable to look in.

Leonie had her pointer and middle finger pressed to his wrist, eyes on her watch.

“Pulse is normal,” she said, and then looked up at him with a smile. “Tom, you had yourself a doozy of a panic attack. But considering what’s happened, it’s easy to see why. Heart begins to race, all sorts of chemicals are firing in your brain, your ‘fight-or-flight’ instinct goes haywire. Basically, it makes you feel extremely overwhelmed, and your body responds quite dramatically to the stress it’s undergoing. Have you ever had an attack like that before?”

Tom frowned, thinking hard. His head hurt, and his tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t think so. Never.” He looked down at his right hand, which was moist and super cold.

“Good. Then this might be a singular event for you.” She noticed his attention on his hand. “Oh. I put an ice cube in your palm. It draws the brain’s attention to that one part of your body, and it helps to interrupt the symptoms of your attack. It usually draws people back to the surface, rather than letting them sink further into what’s making them panic.”

Tom nodded, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

Leonie patted his arms softly, smiling. “Just take a few moments. Take some deep breaths. You’ll feel tired. It’s best to go home as soon as possible to rest. You’ll be just fine.” She stood from her crouch and drew his parents away to speak to them quietly in a corner.

Chris sank down beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“What happened?” Tom asked, turning, soaking up the warmth of him.

Chris bit his lip, looking down at their joined hands. “None of us saw it coming,” he said softly. “The things he wrote on that board. Everyone was so shocked. And sickened.” His jaw clenched, and Tom watched the muscles bunch together. “I kept looking from him to you. Back and forth. When you stood up, everyone froze. And I knew you needed to get out of there. I pulled you into the hallway and down to the restrooms. Babe, I was so scared, seeing you like that. You couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what to do,” he said, pulling Tom close and kissing his cheek.

Tom rubbed his face on Chris’s shoulder, exhausted.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he whispered.

“I promised you I’d never leave you again.”

They waited there, Tom blinking slowly. Without his noticing, a small paper cup of water had made its way into his hand, and he took a shaky sip. It soothed his throat, but his head still pounded. Any longer now, and he was going to pass out again. Eventually, his parents came over and they sat with them. His dad explained that the lawyers had remained back in the courtroom, to ensure that the sentencing was issued.

"He’s getting twenty-seven years, Tom,” his father said, holding Tom’s shoulder. “No chance of parole. He’ll be transported to a penitentiary seven hours north of here. It’s all over now, son.”

Tom, sagging against Chris, felt his heart loosen in disbelief as he sighed out once, quietly. It was over. Was it over? It was hard to believe that it was over.

“When can we go home?” he asked, already looking forward to falling into bed with Chris.

His father checked his watch. “Let me find out.” He stood and slipped out the door.

There was a small knock and Tom’s mother went to see who it was. There stood Jason and Julie, holding hands and looking like wide-eyed stowaways, looking up and down the hall. Diana waved them in, and they approached Tom and Chris on the padded bench they sat on.

Jason said nothing at first, just leaned in and hugged Tom hard. Julie was next, touching his curls.

"We slipped out,” Jason explained. “They’re still in there, talking all kinds of official stuff, but we found this ‘No Entry’ door and it led to this hallway. Your dad walked out and pointed us this way.”

Tom smiled, loving how resourceful they were together. “Sneaking around the courthouse. I’m not surprised.”

Julie grinned, looking rather proud, and Jason scoffed slightly. “Please. It’s not the worst thing I’ve done.” He touched Tom’s arm. “How are you, Tommy? Are you okay?”

Tom shrugged, explaining in a low voice what had happened, that he was feeling okay now, that he was tired and a bit confused.

“You get to go home now, Tommy,” Julie said, taking his hand. “Sleep for the rest of the day, take it slow and easy. You deserve it.”

Tom nodded, smiling again. “I will. I feel about ready to keel over again. I haven’t felt like this since after my spider bites.”

Chris scowled at the memory, squeezing Tom’s waist. After chatting for a few more minutes, Jason and Julie, with promises to check on him over the weekend, slipped out again to find Jason’s parents.

They waited another ten minutes before their lawyers showed up, both congratulating Tom, and asking if he was alright. He nodded mutely, accepting their offered hands, giving Elisabeth a relieved hug in the end. She reiterated, in more detail, what his father had already explained. Shaw would be confined to twenty-seven years in the penitentiary up north. No parole. No release for good behavior. In jail, he would be required to attend anger management classes and be psychologically evaluated.

“It will all be outlined in the packets given to your parents. Just think about it this way, you two will be well into your forties by the time he’d be released.” Elisabeth smiled and shook everyone’s hand once more before departing with her aides.

They all exited through the back door of the courthouse, where media and members of the press were not allowed to gather. The drive back was quiet, a song playing softly on the radio. Tom was nodding, his energy level sapped, when he suddenly became aware of something cold beneath his shirt. He peeked in and caught sight of silver.

Chris smiled when Tom looked up at him in question. “I put it on you when after I brought you to that empty office. It was in your hand when you fainted.”

“Thank you, darling,” Tom whispered, patting his chest over his shirt, the silver warming quickly on his skin.

Chris put an arm around his shoulders and tucked Tom against his side, where Tom promptly fell asleep for the last ten minutes before arriving home.

With the adults downstairs, as exhausted as they were, if not more, what with their better understanding of the implication of recent events, Chris and Tom trudged upstairs, closing their bedroom door behind them.

Chris helped Tom strip, taking each button with extreme care, folding back the two halves of his shirt, Tom’s head resting on his shoulder sluggishly.

He was swaying on his feet, but their hands began to roam and their lips slid along a neck, a stubbled cheek, a smooth forehead. They lay back on their bed, whispering each other’s names. Putting a hand over Tom’s chest, just over the necklace, Chris hovered over him, absorbing the hard pound of his heart beneath his palm.

“Are you okay now, babe? Does anything hurt?”

Tom shook his head, fresh tears bursting over his vision. “A lot of things hurt, Christopher. And nothing hurts. I can’t explain it.” He tugged at him, and with a tiny sob, pressed their lips together, arms winding, bodies flush. They moaned, Chris’s tongue seeking, Tom’s mouth opening.

It was with a cautious sense of elation, and a great amount of exhaustion, that they abandoned themselves to their emotions, desperate to be rid of the hardships that had plagued their minds and hearts and bodies for many months; hardships that perhaps might cease entirely with the single act of a man finally, irreversibly, going to prison.

Tom, in his best efforts to both stay awake and cling harder to Chris, sank his fingers into Chris’s scalp, murmuring his name, legs spreading, hips lifting. Chris, feeling that buzz of urgency start up in his blood, kissed him back hard, lips set to bruise. He mouthed at Tom’s neck, licked at the sensitive skin behind his ear, cupped his face and left butterfly kisses over every inch of it. Tom began to tremble, his cock swollen between them, murmuring in that endearing way of his. Never mind his pounding head, his sore throat, his tight chest, the waves of exhaustion threatening to pull him under any moment. Here he was safe and loved. Nothing would harm him here.

A quick reach under their pillow and Chris was soon slicked up with lube, pressing a finger into Tom, swallowing down the loud gasp given. He prepped him fast, one finger and then two, both impatient to continue, Tom’s eyelids drooping, Chris’s heart hammering.

When he started to press in, Tom gasped again and tilted his hips, hands circling Chris’s biceps. As Chris bottomed out, they lay still, connected deep, Tom feeling his entire center swell with Chris inside him, so full and thick and spreading him wide. Chris swept Tom’s brows with his thumb, intent on memorizing every detail; the parted lips, the blush rising high on his cheeks, those big blue eyes half lidded with fatigue.

“Chris,” Tom murmured, soft hands trailing up his back, and that was all it took, that one word, for Chris to start moving. Tom winced with the first few thrusts, but then his face relaxed and he arched up, neck gleaming, throat bobbing. Chris knew the angle now, he knew how far apart to keep his knees in order to reach that nub of nerves inside his boyfriend. Any other time, he might have drawn it out, made them both ache and be frantic for it. But Tom was at the end of his rope, moaning so faintly, seconds away from collapse, his hands barely keeping a grip on Chris’s shoulders. Angling himself, he rocked in hard, and Tom’s eyes flew open, crying out in a tiny broken groan. Chris concentrated on that spot, eyes on Tom, kissing his mouth, whispering his love.

It was only a handful of minutes, they who had been so proud of their slowly building stamina with each other, that they let their climaxes come hurdling at them at record speed. After a harder thrust, Tom tensed with a quiet ‘oh!’ falling from his lips, fingers tightening on Chris, who slowed his hips to watch.

Tom shuddered, brows furrowing, his cock pulsing sluggishly between them, the flush of blood spreading up his chest and into his neck, a literal wave for Chris to see of Tom’s emotion. He opened his eyes just a slit, the blue glazed and fanned by lashes. A single tear slid down his temple.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then the blue disappeared, rolling back into his head. His body went limp as he slipped into unconsciousness, fingers losing their grip, hands falling with a gentle thud to the bed.

Chris blinked. Tom’s face, soft in sleep, was clear of all tension and worry. He looked younger than his nineteen years, skin smooth and pink. Against his chest rested Chris’s lightning bolt necklace, and when he lowered himself to rest on Tom, the metal bit cooly at his own skin. Holding Tom’s legs open with both hands, Chris started moving again, feeling a tad surreal with Tom unconscious, his body rocking gently with the force of his hips. But it was only a few more thrusts before he was coming, burying his face in Tom’s neck to stifle his grunts. As he pulsed and strained to push himself even further into him, Tom’s lashes fluttered and his eyes focused for one tiny second. His lips twitched into a small smile, and then he went under again, face slack once more. Emptied of everything, Chris trembled and held himself up. Tom slept on, unaware, breathing so softly, so sweetly. Chris kissed his cheek.

Careful not to wake him, he slipped out and laid Tom’s legs flat on the bed. Stepping into his shorts on wobbly feet, he peeked out into the hallway and heard their parents still talking in the kitchen, the smell of coffee strong in the air. Dashing to the bathroom, Chris cleaned himself off quickly and then took another cloth with him to the room, where he wiped Tom down, first his chest and then down between his legs. Tom’s fingers twitched, and Chris bent close but he didn’t wake. A bit awkwardly, he slipped Tom’s boxers back on him, knowing their parents would eventually come up to check on them. Once everything looked normal and not like they had just had sex, Chris crawled back into bed with Tom, pulling the thin sheet over them.

He stared up at the ceiling, watching a strip of sunlight move slowly across the way. Eventually Tom stirred and rolled onto his side, latching onto Chris like he always did. Chris pulled him close, Tom’s head nestling under his chin, and this time when Chris closed his eyes, he felt sleep start to come over him, too.

They had school on Monday, and with it would come more stares and more questions, more whispers and speculation, but Chris had all his classes with Tom now, and would be there to deflect any inquiries that became too aggressive.

It would be okay, he thought, cuddling down against Tom. Nothing could hurt them anymore.

As he drifted off, he had half a sense to recognize voices coming up the stairs, but he was too tired to care. He just tucked the blanket tighter around Tom and then followed him into sleep.

**

A couple of weeks later, the entire school was gearing up for the final few days before Prom. The spring play was the weekend before, and Tom and Chris found themselves backstage helping everyone into costumes and makeup. Chris, in all actuality, only fetched things for Tom, who was the most familiar with what to do and how to keep everything running smoothly with frantic actors and opening night nerves.

After handing Tom a brush, Chris flexed his right wrist, giddy at the feel of it without that damned plaster cast. His mother had removed it the day before, and he’d been half surprised, half disgusted with how thin and pale it looked. Tom took one look at it and went, “Aww.” Chris shook his head and lunged for him, Tom skirting away and laughing, saying how cute it was, asking if they could keep it as a pet, and what should we name it?

He’d eventually caught Tom and held him flat to the floor, showing him who was stronger still. Tom, wide grin and flirty eyes, giggled sweetly and demanded kisses.

In all honesty, his wrist felt very weak, and he would have to be careful how he used it. But his mother assured him that it had healed cleanly and would look normal in a couple of months. Chris was just happy he wouldn’t need to wear the cast for Prom. He was scheduled to start physical therapy to strengthen it three times a week after school, and if it meant he would have a more successful try-out for the college basketball team, then he was more than ready to grind through it.

As Tom worked, holding a student’s face still as he applied concealer, Chris watched him. Since the day of the trial, Tom had been quiet, as usual, liking to lie in bed and read, or swim lazy laps in Chris’s pool. But he’d slowly started opening up again, pulling Chris out to the back yard to do homework on the grass instead of holing themselves up in their room, laughing at jokes made on TV, listening to music in the shower. Jason and Julie came over sometimes and they all watched movies in Tom’s living room. Chris had hung up their tuxes, hoping the sight of them would get Tom more excited about Prom. And it seemed that he was starting to, shyly asking Chris how they were going to get there (they would share a limo with Jason, Julie, Jamie and Daniel and their dates); if they were going to dinner first (of course they were, with the whole group); if they had plans for after or would just come straight home (they did have something planned, and Chris was keeping it a secret).

“Won’t you tell me?” Tom had asked for the tenth time, words soft, fingers tracing down Chris’s cheek, hoping to charm Chris into spilling his secret. But Chris, closing his ears to that sweet voice, simply bent his head and pressed his face to Tom’s crotch, where he nuzzled tenderly. All words died in Tom’s throat, letting Chris hold his wrists down.

"No, babe,” Chris had said. “It’s a surprise. It’s nothing big, but I think you’ll like it.” And then he’d taken Tom into his mouth and the discussion was dropped.

Now here they were, a week left until Prom and Tom was still wondering and Chris still wasn’t telling.

Tom waved the next actor close as the other darted away, reapplying concealer to the brush in his hands.

Jason came bounding in, his costume fixed and looking sharp.

“Christ almighty, there are a lot of people out there.”

Tom grinned, eyes on his work. “For the first time ever, I think, I’m glad I’m not heading out there.”

“None of this back here would be working without you, Tommy,” Jason said, dodging two sweating students holding a fake bridge prop between them. “Will you be watching?”

“Of course,” Tom said, finishing and dropping the brush with a sigh. “Wouldn’t miss it. Break a leg!”

Jason grinned and went to find Julie.

“Are you done?” Chris asked, and Tom nodded, sitting back in a chair, fanning his face with a makeup manual. Chris noticed that his nails were unpainted, and wondered if they should paint them together that night after the play. Or maybe for Prom in a week.

“Everyone’s face is put on,” Tom laughed. “Costumes are fixed, and they won’t need to change again for the duration of the show. We can just sit back and relax.” He started gathering blushes and creams and eye shadows and mascara and dumping them all into the communal make up box. “This area’s going to be flooded with people in a second. Help me clean them?”

Chris took the box from him while Tom went to let his drama teacher know they were done and would be cleaning the makeup utensils in the storage room.

Once inside, Tom closed the door with a tired huff, smiling and a bit sweaty.

“Set them just here,” he said, pointing to the small paint-spotted sink and counter set between two high shelves full of crated costumes and an assortment of shoes and wigs and broken props.

Tom took everything out again and starting dipping brushes into a small container of makeup cleanser, wiping down lipsticks and mascara brushes and blowing away excess eye and face powder. Chris took them from him and set them out to dry, watching a small bead of sweat roll down Tom’s neck.

“What do you think they’re doing out there?” he asked suddenly, wanting to know if they were in the clear.

“Oh, curtain is probably up by now. All the actors will be lined up and my teacher will be just off one of the wings, directing.”

“So…no one will bother us, then?”

Tom set a compact down and turned to him, a gleam of understanding in his eye. “Did you bring a condom?”

“I did.”

“And lube?”

“Especially lube.”

“Brace the door.”

Chris hurried to the door and lodged a short broom handle under the knob. Turning back, he and Tom hurried with their jeans. The room was very small, and the only clear space available was on the floor, so Chris dropped fast and pulled Tom with him, helping him straddle his waist, his jeans bunched up around his ankles. Chris needed only to fold away the flaps of his zipper for Tom to access him, and he did, bending over Chris and helping him roll on the condom. Chris tore open the packet of lube and was bracing Tom against his chest, his fingers scissoring inside him after a moment.

“Fuck, darling,” Tom moaned, their cheeks pressed together, his pants loud in Chris’s ear. Chris loved it when his voice went deeper and slightly wet with arousal, breaking between words. “I can’t tell you how much I love you and your thick fingers. Mine are nothing—.” He grimaced. “—in comparison.” Chris twisted his wrist and Tom cried out, bucking in his arms. Chris tightened his hold on him, Tom nudging his jaw tenderly, desperately, with his sticky forehead.

As he watched Tom hover over him, lashes fluttering, cheeks reddening with every nudge of his fingers, Chris slowly lifted his other hand and brought it down hard on Tom’s exposed ass.

Tom gasped, jumping in his arms. Those blue eyes went wide and he froze.

Feeling his belly flood with heat, Chris rubbed gently at Tom’s heated flesh. “Is this mine?” Chris whispered.

Mouth agape, Tom blinked. Chris stuffed his fingers further in and Tom finally exhaled. He swallowed hard.

Chris spanked him again, and Tom jolted, whining low in his throat. The sound was muffled in that small, overcrowded room, but it lit a flame in Chris’s veins. “Is this mine?” he repeated, voice rough.

"Uh huh,” Tom moaned, nodding fast. A light sheen of sweat sprouted on his brow and he bit his lip, trying to move his hips.

Chris brought his hand down again and Tom arched, rotating his pelvis to press flat on Chris, his cock full and hot. “Are you mine?”

“Yes! Darling, yes. I love it. Hit me again.”

With his fingers curled inside him, Chris smacked Tom another three times, each time bringing Tom lower on him, until his face was pressed to his neck and he trembled hard, breaths heavy. Tom moaned and Chris felt his cock bob higher at the sound.

When he was ready, Tom steadied himself with two hands on Chris’s chest, Chris reaching between his legs to line himself up. He pushed in fast, bottoming out almost in one stroke.

Tom shuddered, taking a moment to get used to Chris's size—so familiar now, the most familiar thing in the world—and then he blinked and smiled. The skin of his bottom burned and it added relish to the stretch Chris gave him. He felt high with it, his blood blooming to the surface of his limbs, making him feel powerful and so, so vulnerable.

"Kisses,” he whined. “I want kisses," His hips moved slowly, not quite bouncing, but swiveling firmly, making Chris arch, desperate for some kind of traction.

"So demanding, my puppy," he grunted, leaning up for a kiss. “You’re my puppy.”

Tom nodded eagerly. “No one else’s.”

Spanking him lightly, they both moaned, Tom starting to move up and down, the heat of him engulfing Chris, pulling him in, tight and wet.

With an impatient groan, Chris anchored Tom to his chest and planted the soles of his shoes on the ground, rutting up hard. Biting his lip, Tom whimpered as Chris fucked up into him, arms wrapped behind Chris's head, bouncing so fast their lips brushed but couldn't stay latched.

"Ch-Chris—" Tom whined, knees bruising on the dirty floor.

With another handful of thrusts, Chris climaxed, gripping Tom's hips, bringing him down as he pushed up. The damn condom stifled his orgasm slightly, stripping them of the strong spurts he usually ribboned into Tom, but it was best for Tom that he wore one tonight.

Trembling, Tom waited until he finished, eyes glazed. He was close.

Sitting up quickly, Chris lifted Tom off him, ignoring the small gasp of protest he gave, and had him stand. Scrambling to his knees, he took Tom's cock and started sucking him off.

Tom's head fell back, his fingers carding through Chris's hair, curling, gripping it hard. Chris stopped bobbing and Tom took control, holding him steady as he started thrusting in. Chris felt the warm gush of his release, and immediately swallowed, letting his throat wring out Tom's orgasm.

Panting, Tom stared down at him, wincing when Chris let his cock fall slowly from his mouth, sucking the tip hard at the end.

Tom cupped his cheek lovingly, face aglow. "You are...the worst."

Chris just chuckled and helped Tom tuck himself away. He tore his condom off and tied the end, wrapping it in a paper towel to dispose of later.

“Did you like that?”

Tom rocked on unsteady feet, but nodded. “Fuck yes.”

“Such language,” Chris teased, but then paused, catching sight of something red on Tom's arm. He stepped closer. "Babe, you're bleeding."

"What?" Tom looked down, angling his arm, trying to see. His elbow was scraped raw, beads of blood gathering along the deepest part. "Oh, I can hardly feel it."

"Endorphins," Chris guessed. "And your knees?" He unbuckled Tom's jeans again and dropped them low. Both knees were red and scratched, but not bleeding. His heart fell. "This is why I got on the bottom, so you wouldn't be hurt."    

Tom dragged him back up, fixing himself again. "It's nothing," he said, bringing down a small blue box stored on the shelf. He dabbed some water on his elbow and then fished around for a small adhesive bandage, fixing it over the cut. Chris bent and lay a kiss over it. Tom smiled. "See? I'll be fine, darling. It's like rug burn, only better." He leaned up on his tiptoes, for effect only, and kissed Chris's lips. "That was lovely. We need to do that more often."

"Sex?"

Tom laughed and took his hand. "Sex. Spanking. Semi-public."

Chris blushed. "Now who's the worst?"

Tom grinned and pulled him to the door. "Let's go see some of this play before it ends!"

They slipped out the door and into the pitch black hallway. It was scary, in a way, subterranean almost, the feel of the high invisible ceiling, the crisscrossing paths amid the hanging velvet curtains; paths Tom knew well, guiding Chris, who was blind in that echoing, womblike darkness. Chris wrapped Tom under his arm, both stepping softly, following the scattered laughter of the audience, sounding both close and far away, to the inevitable opening of the wings. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Jason and Julie amid the other actors, big smiles and wide hands.

Still blushing, they settled cross-legged on the floor. Tom leaned his head on Chris's shoulder and sighed, both watching the play escalate to its thunderous end.

**

Tom dreamt of the trial only twice. Most days, it was hard for him not to relive it, what he felt, how horrible it all was in hindsight. But the dreams were stilted in a way that made it seem much sharper, Shaw sitting much closer, the courtroom much more empty, really just the two of them and all those stiff wooden pews. Chris would always be awake when Tom startled out of sleep, the memory of that muffled voice still ringing in his ears. Chris, with his hand on Tom’s head, stroking softly, would only watch him, jaw clenched. He didn’t ask, and Tom was grateful. They both knew, regardless, what plagued him.

Without words, Tom simply rolled over to Chris and fell back asleep wound tight around him, those wide hands on his back letting nothing through.

Most of their final assignments for school were done. Chris was finalizing his English essay on the use of modern heroes, with examples from their reading material that year, and Tom was nearly through with his history project on the Kennedy dynasty.

They turned in their projects the day before Prom, heading home in a dim haze, slightly alarmed that their high school years were over. After Prom, they had graduation, and after that they would tour the university and then start as freshmen all over again in the fall.

“Are you ready?” he found himself asking Chris on the drive home from what would be their last full day of school. “Are you ready to graduate and…and leave here?”

The wind was rushing in through their open windows, and Chris’s hair, tucked behind his ears, was flapping in its wake. He shrugged.

“I feel like I am. Doesn’t matter either way, does it? I can’t just stop or take a break from life just because I feel I’m not ready.”

“But _are_ you ready?” Tom insisted, turning in his seat.

Chris glanced at him, smiling after a moment. “Yes. I think I am. With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Tom sat still for a moment, watching him, and then he leaned across the seat and kissed his cheek. Chris met him halfway, a bit surprised, eyes still on the road. “I feel the same way, my love.” He stayed there, legs curled to the side, his head resting on Chris’s shoulder, as they drove the rest of the way home.

**

“Oh god, I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be. I’m fucking excited.”

“I can’t get this to tie right.”

“Hold still—.”

“ _You_ hold still.”

“I swear to god, babe, I’m going to spank you.”

“Don’t be making me any promises, Christopher, not when I’ve finally got this blasted thing on right.”

Tom wished Chris would bend him over his knee like he said, because being spanked felt a million times better than Tom could have ever imagined it would, but there was simply no time.

After another minute of fumbling, they stood before the mirror dressed in their tuxes, their waistcoats fastened, their black jackets still hanging on the doorknob. That morning, Chris had painted Tom's toenails purple, and Tom had used the same color for his fingernails, swiping the brush carefully, cursing when stray flecks smudged his cuticles. Chris carefully and patiently cleaned around the edges with a small piece of acetone-soaked cotton. When he blew on them to help them dry, Tom giggled and ducked his head.

The time was nearly upon them when the limo would stop by their front door to pick them up, and Tom was shaking like a leaf.

"Here, let me spray you," Chris said, holding up a bottle of his cologne. He frowned. "That sounded a lot worse than I meant it to."

Tom laughed and stepped close, lifting his chin as the plumes of fragrance fell over his neck and chest.

When they were finished, they headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where their parents were sitting around the table talking quietly. Leonie saw them first. She jumped up with a squeal, something Tom had never heard her do before, and rushed to their side, followed closely by Diana.

Exclaiming how handsome they looked, their mothers fussed over their buttons, smoothing down their shoulders and lapels and complimenting the purple of their waistcoats. James helped Tom with his bow tie and Craig made a few adjustments to Chris’s regular tie, both stepping back to look over their work.

“Over by the fireplace for pictures!” Diana said, bringing out her camera. A bit bashfully, the boys walked over to the living room and stood before the fireplace. Chris took Tom’s hand and they looked at each other, grinning wide. Standing first side by side, arms linked, and then Tom tucked into Chris’s side, much their favorite way to stand every other time, the flashes starting bursting before their eyes, realizing that Leonie had brought her own camera, too.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, the boys thankfully stepped to the side, eyes stinging.

Tom’s father showed Jason and Julie into the living room, followed by Jaime and Danny and their dates.

Everyone hugged everyone, exclamations made over the color and design of the girls’ dresses, how beautiful they looked together. More pictures were taken of them as a group, and then they were piling into the limo, their parents waving and double checking they had their phones and to please call them if they needed anything.

There were eight of them in total. They all knew each other, except for Jaime and Danny’s dates, who introduced themselves as Lydia and Felicia. Tom didn’t recognize them; he thought they might be sophomores. He and Chris squeezed themselves into the farthest seat inside, just next to the partition that opened up to the driver’s compartment. The seats, smooth leather, were cool to the touch and very soft. A small line of blue lights ran around the ceiling, giving everything an ethereal, almost pulpy vibe, like from a club or flashing neon.

“Alright! I’m ready to go! I’m hungry!” Jaime said, hugging his date.

They all laughed, giddy and nervous. “How unusual for you,” Danny said, mock rolling his eyes. Jaime kicked at him and Danny dodged, pressing harder against his date, who blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

As the limo pulled away from the curb, Tom watched them. He watched the silky cascade of her pink dress fall over her smooth legs, the matching corsage on her wrist, the thin and elegant diamond-lined necklace that stopped just before the lovely swell of her cleavage. The jeweled clasp of her high heels wrapped around her slim ankles, accentuating the long, lean line of her calves. She laughed quietly at something Danny said, raising a hand to her chest. Her trim nails were a cotton candy pink, and Tom found himself comparing them to his own, the dark purple glittering in the zipping blue lights.

“That’s a cool color,” Jaime’s date said. Felicia, Tom reminded himself. She pointed to his nails. “I like darker colors, too.” She examined her hand. Hers, appearing black in the low light, was actually a rich maroon.

“Thanks,” he said, blushing. “Chris painted my toes, too.” He cringed, unsure if she even cared about what he knew might be too intimate a detail, but she gasped and widened her eyes.

“He did? That’s so sweet!”

"Oh, Chris is the sweetest boyfriend," Julie added, winking at Chris.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Hems, dude, you’ve got to take it down a notch. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”        

Chris shrugged and wrapped an arm around Tom’s shoulder. “I love making him smile.”

Jaime pantomimed barfing noises and Felicia elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s going on over there?” Danny shouted, and then everyone was talking over each other, the noise punctuated by a loud “I want food!”

The restaurant they went to was a small Italian place that seated them in the back courtyard. They ordered two huge plates of pasta with shrimp and everyone shared from there. Breadsticks and soups were also brought, along with refills of soda and water.

With the rest of the group occupied with each other, Tom turned to Chris. “This is all so wonderful,” he whispered. “This place. The limo. I could never have imagined attending Prom a year ago.”

Chris took his hand under the table. “You know, I think about what would have happened had we never taken the same summer class last year. Would we have met? Would I only have been able to look at you from far away? Would I have known this great big love in here?” he said, touching his chest. “And I really like to think that I would have gotten the courage to…that I would have, some way, after all those times watching you skitter through the hallways, head down, or disappear from the cafeteria, that I would have eventually been brave enough to walk up to you and say hi.”

Tom’s eyes crinkled. “I do _not_ skitter.”

Chris nuzzled his temple. “Hush, puppy.”

“But I like that,” Tom said. “I like to believe we would have found each other somehow. That we would have ended up together, regardless of…” He frowned, not wanting to talk about that. “I used to watch you, too—.”

“You mean spying.”

Tom squeezed his hand. “I _told_ you, I just happened to walk by—.”

Chris laughed.

“Oh, I should never have told you a thing about that.”

“I like when you tell me things.”

“Not when you’re being a brat.”

“I like being a brat.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you, lord help me,” Tom whispered, darting his eyes over Chris’s face, a face he knew by heart, every freckle, every laugh line. His breath hitched. “We would have found each other. Right?”

Chris’s face softened and he hugged Tom’s waist. “Yes, babe. I really think we would have.”

They finished their meal, joining the others in their laughter, hands held loosely between them.

**

The limo dropped them off in front of the fancy hotel their school had rented their largest ballroom from. As the others piled out, Tom sat back a moment to take a deep breath.

“It’s going to be great!” Chris said, waiting with him.

“I know. I just…I’ve been so…”

“Skittish?” Chris said, smiling kindly. Tom had a history of being skittish.

He blushed. “Yeah. Sorry. Just nervous.”

“Babe, you look beautiful. There will be other couples like us. You know we’re not the only gay couple at school. There’s Seth and Tim, from 11th grade. And Chris and Stephen from our grade.”

“And Emilia and Jessica. Juniors.”

“Exactly! Babe, we’re going to have fun. I promise.”

Tom nodded and took another deep breath to settle himself.

Jason and Julie stuck their heads in the door. “Guys! No making out. Not ‘til later. We have dancing to do!”

Tom laughed. “We’re coming!”

They were early, with only a few dozen other people there already. The inside of the ballroom was lovely. Rather than use their school colors, the decorating committee had opted for a gold and cream theme, with shiny streamers crisscrossing the ceiling and every table topped with white linen and gold candles. Their graduation year was suspended in a giant banner behind the DJ, who was elevated on the center stage. The lights were dim, music was blasting, and people were waiting in line to get their pictures taken.

“We’ll snag a table,” Tom said quickly, tugging on Chris. “Get your pictures taken. We’ll be right behind you.”

The others stayed in line and he and Chris went to find a table for their group.

Sitting at an empty one, Tom smoothed down his lapels.

Chris raised his eyebrows at him. “Explain,” was all he said.

“Because I’m nervous, I already told you. And you stand up there in front of everyone as they take your picture.” He shuddered, his foot tapping a fast beat. Even now, they could see Jaime and Felicia stand under the bright spotlight, the photographer angling his lens, the couple smiling wide.

“By that same logic,” Chris said, scooting closer. “Wouldn’t it be better to take them now instead of when more people get here?”

Tom licked his lips, eyes flicking from the photos being taken to Chris. “You’re right,” he conceded.

“Unless you don’t want to—.”

“No! No, I do, darling. I do. I want one so bad. To carry that memory with us. Through college. And then…later. In our home. I want one.”

Chris kissed his nose. “Then let’s go!”

They stood, and Chris turned to an underclassman at the next table. The kid jumped when Chris pointed at him. “Save our table, yeah? Thanks, man!” He clapped the kid on the back, practically upending him, and pulled Tom through the winding tables.

As they waited, Chris put an arm around his shoulder, not letting Tom squirm away. He lowered his voice. “Babe, why were you looking at that girl’s dress earlier? In the limo?”

Tom reddened. He’d noticed that? Speaking in the same whisper, he said, “Um. Nothing. I just think it’s really pretty.”

“Is that all?”

Tom cast his eyes down, swallowing. “I was thinking how much I wish I could wear pretty things like that for you.”

Chris squeezed him. “Babe…”

Tom hurried to explain. “I mean, I don’t…I’m not trying to say I wish I was a girl. I like being a boy. I like my body. I like how I feel in my body. I like how _you_ make me feel, Chris.” He smiled. “But I like pretty things, too. And I wish I could wear those things. Obviously, wearing a dress to something like this would have been just silly. But I like admiring how lovely all these girls look. And I wish I could wear something like that and not be judged for it. I want to be pretty for you, and I think it would make me happy.”

They moved up in line.

“Baby, I think you’re the most beautiful person in here. I really do. You don’t need those cute dresses or the jewelry or the makeup to become any more beautiful than I already think you are. I know you like your nail polish and your lip-gloss, and I like them, too. I like that you feel you can express yourself that way. If it makes you feel pretty, then please do it.”

Tom blushed. “I don’t imagine I’ll start wearing dresses,” he said, laughing quietly. “But there was one thing that I’ve been tempted to try, that I’ve been curious about. I just don’t know how to get my hands on it.”

Chris’s brow lifted. “Please tell.”

Tom glanced over their shoulders. People were talking to each other, laughing and exclaiming over their dresses and the decoeations, but Tom still felt self-conscious about saying it aloud.

“In my ear?” Chris suggested.

Tom bit his lip. They were next in line. "No. After pictures, okay? I don't want your face to be red."

"Oh, baby," Chris groaned, pretending to go weak in the knees. "What is it? You're driving me crazy."

"Shh! We're next."

When the photographer waved them over, he guided them to stand on the tape mark on the floor. The boys stood side by side, hands clasped tightly. Past the spotlight aimed at their faces, they could see nothing of the rest of the ballroom, nothing of who was or wasn't watching, only the music and the photographer's voice telling them to smile wide. They did, and a flash like fireworks burst before them.

Blinking away spots, they squinted at the photographer, who was saying something. "I like to do a goofy option too. And it will come with the regular photo you order. Would you like one?"

"Um," Tom started, side-eyeing Chris, but Chris, grinning wide, said, "Yes, please!" And then he grabbed Tom around the waist. He planted his face in Tom's neck and growled playfully just as the photographer snapped another photo, catching Tom bracing himself, face scrunched adorably in a giggly smile.

Christopher laughed and pulled Tom away, yelling a thank you to the photographer.

"I can't wait to see that one!" he said, tugging Tom's arm.

"That was a dirty trick," Tom said, smiling. "You could have warned me."

"And lose that genuine reaction? No way. Plus," Chris said, drawing close and whispering. "That's payback for not telling me."

Tom pouted. "I was going to tell you!"

"You still are. Or else..."

Tom narrowed his eyes, trying to calm the rising heat in his belly. "Or else what?"

Chris winked. "Spanking."

Tom's eyes fluttered shut. "Don't tease me."

"I'm not teasing. It's the truth."

Tom smiled and continued walking. "We'll see about that."

They sank into their chairs, eyeing each other heavily.

"No eye-fucking," Jaime said, playing with the gold confetti strewn over the table. "Save that for later."

"Speaking of later," Tom cut in, ignoring Chris's pointed gaze. "What are we doing after this?"

"Nothing!" Chris shouted, just as Jaime opened his mouth to say something. He grabbed Tom's knee. "We're doing _nothing."_

"I thought we were going to the—," Felicia started to say, but Chris grabbed Tom's hand.

"I need your help with something!"

He dragged Tom to the side doors and they fell into an empty hallway.

"She was about to say—."

"I don't want to ruin the surprise," Chris interrupted. "And you little sneak, asking that question..."

He pressed Tom to the wall and Tom laughed quietly. "Ah, you think I don't have my ways."

"Oh, I know you do. You start out all innocent and wide-eyed, but then..."

Tom shivered, letting Chris kiss his neck.

"I just don't want the surprise ruined for you. As soon as I heard of it, I couldn't wait for you to see it."

Tom whined. "What is it, darling?"

"It's beautiful, trust me. Just like you. But I don't want you to have preconceived notions. I want you to see it fresh."

Tom sighed. "Alright. I promise I won't ask anymore."

"Mmm, good boy. Thank you," he breathed, and Tom shied away, stifling more giggles. He was so ticklish there and Chris knew it.

"Tell me what you've been thinking about wearing. Or wait! Let me guess."

Tom laughed. "Okay."

"Is it...long necklaces?"

"No."

"Is it...mascara?"

Tom paused, considering. "Hmm. Maybe. But no."

Chris frowned. "Okay, tell me."

"It's something you can't see. At first."

Chris's eyes went wide. "Is it something I can get for you at Victoria's Secret?" He started bouncing on the balls of his feet, excited.

Tom's cheeks flushed red. "Yes."

"Oh, shit. Babe. Like what are we talking about here? Bras?"

"No. I was thinking more of...panties."

Chris sagged against him. " _Panties_."

Tom nodded, encouraged. "Like lace panties. With bows and satin. In pinks and light blues and purples and whites and--"

"Fuck," Chris groaned and kissed him, open mouthed, one hand on his neck, the other on the wall behind him. He drew back after a minute, ragged. "I can already imagine it. Those tiny little panties, and your huge cock—."

"Shh!" Tom said, holding a finger to Chris's lip. Chris snagged his finger between his teeth and bit. Tom moaned. "Take me back to the dance, you naughty boy, and we'll talk about this later."

With a devilish grin, Chris happily complied and they walked back into the ballroom.

More people arrived within the hour and soon all the lights were dimmed and the DJ started playing more dance music. Chris got them cups of punch, and they sipped as they people-watched. It was hard to hear each other over the music, so they mostly looked at each other a lot, glancing away, blushing.

It was like a warm pool of honey in their bellies, this secret of theirs, one of Tom's strongest desires made manifest. Chris was already planning how to get ahold of a pair that Tom would like, and Tom was beginning to imagine how they might feel on his bare skin, if they would hold him, the look on Chris's face the first time he wore them. He was giddy with excitement, just the idea of it making him squirm, making him feel light as air, as bouncy as the balloons hovering over the tables. He set his punch down and grabbed Chris's hand. They made their way to the dance floor, straight to the middle of the crowd. Everyone was jumping and swaying and free floating. Tom joined them, moving his arms and hips, drawing Chris close. Eyes fastened on Tom, Chris's smile slowly grew, following his lead, letting the beat lead them, without scrutiny in that dark mass of heat and bodies, their own rhythm falling easily with each other, hands loosely clasped, Chris pulling him in, spinning him out, all grins and laughter. When the music slowed, they fell into step, swaying together, spinning slowly, eyes locked.

Chris remembered what it had felt like to hold Tom in his arms back in the courthouse restroom, the panicked gasps, eyes full of fear, confused and in pain as he struggled to breathe. He never wanted to see Tom like that again. Tom was so joyful at this moment with him, dancing together, unconcerned with the other people in the room, unconcerned with courts and trials and who might be spying on them, waiting for a moment when he was alone to pounce. All that was done. They were free. Chris knew Tom was happy and comfortable and safe, and that's how he wanted to keep it for as long as possible.

Jason and Julie glided by and Jason winked at them, the twinkling lights above catching in his eyes brilliantly. With a jolt of surprise, Chris caught eyes with Eric Samuels, who was slow dancing with his date. Eric nodded at him once and then looked away. After their rather heated history, they had settled into a silent truce after Jason’s fight in the hallway a couple of months before, when Eric had thanked Chris for defending Jason. Neither had attempted to approach the other since then, so things had died down a bit, tensing only slightly when they passed each other at school. Still, it was so much worse between them before, and what mattered to Chris the most was that Jason’s friendship with Eric seemed to have improved. There was a lot of affection between the two, and Eric was perhaps benefitting from having Jason close by again.

With music and friends, Tom and Chris never even noticed the hours go by. Before long, Prom King and Queen were crowned and the last dance was being announced, groans rising up all over the room. The boys danced one final time together, feeling more and more at ease with their joined styles.

Sweating and gasping for air, they all fell back into the limo, much more disheveled than when they first stepped out. Slumped over each other in their seats, they mumbled tiredly, the girls’ dresses wrinkled, the boys’ ties and first few buttons loose. Lying together on those long seats, the girls in their poufy dresses reminded Tom of exhausted ballerinas, like the one from that Degas painting he saw at a museum during middle school. They really were so beautiful.

He yawned and turned to Chris, snuggling sleepily against his side.

The plan was for the limo to drop them off at their respective houses, where they would get into their own cars and meet at Eden Lake by midnight.

"Eden Lake?" Tom asked, eyebrows knitted in wonder, but Chris just winked. After everyone checked in with their parents, Jason and Julie tagged along with them in Chris's car. The lake was dark when they parked and met up with the others. Toting blankets and pillows and bags of food and drinks, they walked through the trees and down to the water’s edge, spreading out and lying flat to stare at the sky. The girls were still in their dresses and the boys jacketless in their tuxes, but they didn’t mind. They just hiked up their skirts and rolled up their sleeves and pants legs and relaxed against their blankets.

“Guys,” Jaime said. He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a case of beer out of the gym bag he carried. Everyone cheered, except for Chris, who turned wide eyes to Tom. Both started laughing.

“What?” Jaime said, looking confused. “I brought chips and cookies and other snacks, too.”

“It’s nothing,” Danny said, looking pointedly at them. No one besides he and Tom knew about Chris’s drunken episode. “Toss one here.”

Jaime passed them around, but Chris declined his. “Nah, that’s okay. Not feeling it. Give me cookies, though.” Tom caught his can of beer, and peered at it. “Go ahead, babe. Try it. I’ll be right here.”

Tom popped the can open and sniffed, making a face.

Chris laughed. “Try it!”

Tom did, shuddering. Around them, their friends cozy and munching on food, all stared out at the lake, as if waiting. Tom took another cautious sip.

Out over the surface of the lake, tiny buzzing lights started floating in lazy curlicues. From the distance, they looked like flames in the dark.

“What’s happening?” he asked suddenly.

“Fireflies,” Chris said, smiling.

Thousands of them lit over the lake in distorted, dancing orbs, making it appear like some kind of reflection of the round-bellied night sky above them.

Tom gaped. “I’ve been here before, but only during the day. I didn’t know this happened at night!”

“I told you you’d like it.”

Tom hugged him. “I do. I love it.”

“Come in the lake with me,” they heard Felicia say to Jaime.

“No way. No way! That’s how the kids get eaten in horror movies.”

“I’ll go with you,” Julie said. She reached for the girl’s hand and barefoot, they walked to the water’s edge and started wading in.

“That’s kind of hot,” Jaime whispered and Jason threw a chip at him.

Tom laughed and dropped down to his back, Chris following. He sipped at the beer, feeling it warm his limbs, make them loose. The stars and fireflies winked at him, and he felt dizzy in love with nearly everything he laid his eyes on. The can was nearly empty when he felt Chris take it from his slack fingers. Tom lay back with a smile, opening his arms to the sky. He giggled.

“You’re tipsy,” Chris said, leaning on an elbow over him.

“Am not,” Tom said, and giggled again.

The girls shouted and laughed down by the lake, bending to examine a cluster of hovering fireflies. They crept toward it, hands held tight, and squealed when it zipped away and came back, as if playing with them.

“I wish the mall was open now,” Chris whispered, running a hand over Tom’s curls.

“Mm? Why?”

“To buy you something lacy.”

Tom’s eyes flew open. They were glassy from his one beer. “Do you promise, Christopher?”

Chris couldn’t answer. He simply nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Tom, with his skin glowing in the flickering light, licked his lips. Chris gripped his neck and inched closer. The girls were still out in the water; Danny and his date were lying on their blanket, holding hands and talking quietly. Jaime was hogging the chips and Jason was watching Julie outlined in the floating lights.

He sat up suddenly and took Tom’s hands, pulling him to his feet. Tom yelped and clung to him, feeling a rush of dizziness in his head.

“Where are you two off to?” Jason said, smiling, as Felicia and Julie came running back to the group.

“I need some alone time to make out with my boyfriend,” Chris said, supporting Tom, who was wobbly on his feet.

The others started catcalling and whistling lasciviously. “Please don’t get bitten by any snakes!” Jaime called, lifting his head from his date’s lap.

Tipsy, Tom turned and said, “Oh, that’s not the snake that’s going to—.”

Chris threw his hand over Tom’s mouth, effectively smothering the rest of what he was going to say. “Be right back!”

The others started laughing and cheering them on. Tom’s eyes, meanwhile, were rolling back and he was moaning quietly, loving the feel of Chris’s hand over his lips.

They stumbled to the tree line and disappeared behind one of the trunks. Chris pressed Tom flat against the rough bark.

“You naughty puppy,” he laughed. “I’ll show you a snake later.”

Tom snickered and arched against him. Chris latched onto his neck and started sucking, hands curving behind his waist, groping at him. They rolled against the tree bark, gasping, mouths bruising. Chris could taste the beer on Tom’s tongue, and he moaned into their embrace, wrapping him close. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, desperate to taste the warm skin hidden there.

“Chris,” Tom moaned, letting his head roll back against the tree, blinking slowly. The webbed branches, and the sky farther up, were blurring beautifully, all dark green and black swirls. If it weren’t for Chris’s hands on him, Tom would have been okay with collapsing to the spongy earth, moist with sticky leaves and high grass, to sleep and sigh and praise the wonder of that wild land. “Promise me,” he heard himself say, voice thick with something heavy like fate. “Promise me we’ll remember this forever. Please, my darling.”

Chris lifted his head and framed Tom’s face with his hands. “Babe. You better believe that we are going to remember everything. How we met. How we got to know each other. The first time we held hands. Our kiss in the bookstore. Making out by your drama class. Climbing to your window every night to sleep beside you. I honestly don’t know how I slept before, Tom, because now I can’t sleep without being wrapped up together.” They laughed. “All the mess we’ve been through, with…you know. That’s all behind us, babe. You are so much stronger now, and still so lovely and soft. I can't wait to live this life with you. And have you dance and laugh and sing. We'll travel and lie under different skies and we'll belong to each other. Forever, babe. Forever."

Tears made Tom's eyes shiny in the dim light of the moon and lake, but Chris saw him smile, he heard that whisper, that _yes,_ so sweet and laden with truth.

"Yes, baby," Chris agreed, kissing him again, crushing over him. "Yes, Tom. Yes." They kissed, and kissed some more.

Far by the water, they heard their friends laughing, the girls shrieking over something, Jason's voice, his strong and deep theater voice, smooth and clear over everyone's, "'If I believe in death!" he shouted. "Be sure of this...it is because you _have loved me_ , moon and sunset, stars and flowers, gold crescendo and a silver muting...of seatides.'"

The others clapped and yelled, and Chris and Tom ran down to join them, flopping onto their blankets, wrapped warm and safe, and giddy in their knowledge of love and what the rest of the world held, bated and trembling, to show them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line spoken by Jason is a quote from the poem 'If I Believe' by e.e. cummings.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the time has come to conclude this story. This will be the final chapter :( I've worked on this story for over a year, and it was one of the best things I have ever experienced. I love these two puppies so much. They've been a part of my brain forever, and they won't ever leave it, I don't think. And that's ok with me lol. It was a great ride and I can't thank everyone enough for the love, the support, the excitement shared! You're the best, most amazing readers I could ever ask for. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. On to new stories now!
> 
> If anyone is interested, I posted a new hiddlesworth au story called And Then the Cracking Ice. All five chapters are up! 
> 
> Thanks so much! I love you all!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3

The urge came to him suddenly the day before graduation, sitting by the window waiting for Chris to return from physical therapy. The street outside was shimmering, baking from the midmorning sun, but there was something so wide and inviting about the curve of the street, disappearing past his window. Without Chris beside him, he used to be so afraid of walking out of his house at any given time of day, the threat of Shaw and his violence stopping him from enjoying a simple stroll to his boyfriend’s house two streets over. But now, as he laced his tennis shoes and pulled on one of Chris’s old basketball shirts, Tom realized he was free to do practically anything he wanted.

Chris would return soon, wrist aching from the exercises they made him do, but Tom figured he had enough time before then. On his desk lay the letter, the one he’d received in the mail that morning. His father had stuck it under Tom’s door with a note that said _From Elisabeth_. Indeed the cream envelope had an official looking insignia in the top left corner from the District Attorney’s Office, but there was something foreboding about the thinness of its contents, the elegant, personal scrawl of Tom’s name written in Elisabeth’s own hand, that made Tom hesitate. He’d set the letter on his desk and hadn’t touched it since.

Now, he hovered just outside his front door, the waves of heat smothering him immediately, but he took a deep breath, already relishing in the sense of newfound freedom. He stretched his legs, squatting to the side, lifting his arms, twisting his torso. He’d always been long and lean, lungs and muscles kept healthy from the strenuous work in Drama class, but that was all over now. He would spend the summer working with Jason at the vitamin store at the mall, while Chris worked at his father’s office, like he did every summer. Both wanted to save as much money as they could before university in the fall, leaving no time for drama camps, as Tom had participated in previous summers.      

Running would solve a lot of his problems.

Never really having done it recreationally before, Tom started slow, jogging down the street toward Chris’s house. Once there, he kept going to the exit from the neighborhood, veering south along the less trafficked roads. He realized he should have brought some music, but that could wait until next time. For now, he let the sound of awakening cicadas drown his hearing, feet slapping the pavement, his breaths bursting out of him in quick huffs. Sweat dripped down his face and the sun beat on the back of his neck, but Tom only went faster, starting to fall into a rhythm, a stride that carried him farther and farther. Before, he would have needed to wait for Chris to be home so he could accompany Tom on this run. He would have needed to text Chris and let him know where he was and what time he would be home. And while Tom knew he would still always keep Chris informed about where he was, Tom knew there wasn’t that urgency to prevent danger from befalling him, as so much of their relationship—fake and real—had been clouded over by.

Before Tom knew it, he was out by the edge of town. He slowed to a stop when he realized he had stumbled upon the house where he and Chris had attended that party nearly a year before. And there, along this slanted ditch, was where Chris had parked, where he and Tom had crawled into the passenger seat and made out. Where Chris had cemented his love of being bitten, leaving Tom a dark bruise on his shoulder, teeth marks dark red.

Tom smiled and kicked at a loose rock, amazed at how much time had passed, all that they’d been through.

And then something snapped behind him, and he gasped, turning quickly. But it was only a stray dog, nosing along the edge of the knee-high grasses. Tom’s heart rate spiked, and he held a hand to his chest, closing his eyes in disbelief.

Shaw was put away. Shaw wouldn’t hurt him anymore. He wouldn’t stalk him and beat him, wouldn’t taunt him or assault him ever again. Tom had to remind himself of that, had to remember. It was important that he remember.

He started back the way he came, jogging slower, feeling the sun beat down on his head. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but as he rounded the corner to his house, he saw Chris’s car parked in the driveway. Soaked, Tom ambled up the front path and let himself in. Out of nowhere, arms hauled him in against a hard chest, and Tom felt the air catch in his lungs.

“Baby, where have you been?”

Chris’s voice was muffled in his hair, and Tom tried squirming away, feeling gross and dirty.

“I went for a run. Oh, darling, don’t. I’m all sweaty.”

Chris left kisses on his forehead anyway, drawing back after a moment.

"A run?”

“Yeah. I just felt like going. I think I might like it.”

Chris smiled. His hair was long again, wrapped up in a loose bun. He had on the thin black headband Tom had given him. “Good. I think you’ll make a great runner. With these long legs.” He waggled his eyebrows and grabbed Tom’s ass. Tom jumped away, laughing. He led the way into the living room.

“How was therapy?”

Chris rolled his eyes and slumped down on the sofa. “It was okay. Wrist still aches. But I’m working with a sports physical therapist and he assures me I’ll be ready to try-out in October.”

Tom stopped at the fridge and returned with a bottle of water. He chugged it down, Chris’s eyes following the movement of his throat. Tom smacked his chest lightly. “Stop.” But Chris just winked and kept watching.

They remained quiet, both thinking of the day ahead.

**

Gowns on over their outfits, caps snug on their heads, Chris and Tom posed for pictures before the fireplace. Their parents had their cell phones out, snapping photos and taking video, asking how they felt to be finally done with high school.

Chris took Tom’s hand. “Great,” he said.

Tom nodded. “We feel great.”

Their parents beamed as more flashes burst before their eyes.

**

The ceremony was lovely, Tom thought. The sun shone bright and hot, but there was a steady breeze that kept everyone cool throughout the speeches by the principal and the valedictorian and student body president. He and Chris were in the same aisle, separated by three people. They kept leaning forward and glancing at each other, smiling. When they were called to line up beside the stage in the middle of the football field, Chris was called up first. Tom watched him walk across to the podium, shake Principal Williams’ hand, and descend the stairs on the other side. And then it was Tom’s turn, and he took a deep breath, stepping carefully so as not to trip. He heard cheers and someone sounding like Jason calling his name, but then he was shaking the principal’s hand, turning to face the photographer hired by the school. They posed and smiled, and Principal Williams’ whispered, “So glad you’re doing well, Tom. Good luck in college. Let me know if you need anything.”

Tom nodded and thanked him, moving to the other side and descending the stairs. Back in their seats, Chris crowded over the people separating them. “What did he say?” he whispered loudly.

“Shh!” Tom replied, smiling.

Chris narrowed his eyes playfully, but sat back.

Afterward, Chris snatched his hand and pushed through the crowd. Jason and Julie jumped at them first, congratulating them, and promising to meet up over the weekend for dinner. They bypassed Jamie and Daniel, high fiving them before they were tugged away by their families. They finally found their parents in the great rush of people that had poured onto the football field, and Tom was suddenly surrounded by balloons and a teddy bear and hugs upon hugs.

“We’re so proud of you,” Tom’s mother said, crying happily.

“Let’s go to lunch!” Craig said, and they all made their way to the parking lot. Giddy, Chris climbed into Tom’s car with him and they followed his parents to a restaurant downtown. It was still early, so it wasn’t as crowded as Tom thought it would be. They ate and talked about their summer plans, about the campus tour they would take, about buying their books and school supplies later in August. It wasn’t soon enough that they made it back home, flung off their caps and gowns and changed into something less formal. They took Chris’s car to the pier and sat at the edge of the docks, their feet in the warm water.

“I have an idea,” Chris said, arm thrown over Tom’s shoulders.

Tom, slightly drowsy from all the food and excitement and the late afternoon sunshine, hummed. “What, love?”

“Let’s go to the…mall.”

Tom blinked and sat up. “You mean it?”

“Of course, babe,” Chris said, grinning. “Think about it. I know you’re nervous about shopping for them, but I’m sure no one is at the mall right now. They’re all at parties or having dinner with family. We can go to the mall up north where we first bought our condoms.”

Heart beating faster, Tom nodded. “Let’s go!”

The mall was mostly empty, just as Chris predicted. The northern part of the city was somewhat of a retirement community, and with the high schools celebrating graduation, the only shoppers were gray-haired and slow, ignoring the Victoria’s Secret that took up the entire eastern corner of the second level.

Chris and Tom eyed the store from around the corner.

“What do you think?” Tom whispered.

“I say fuck everyone and walk in together.”

“But I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.” Chris cut him a warning glare. Tom insisted. “I’m serious. Look, I know most young people are progressive about gay couples, but it’s one thing to hold hands at the movie theatre, it’s an entirely different thing to shop for lingerie together knowing how it will be used.”

“How it will be used? You mean as underwear? Like for every other human being?”

Tom sighed. “Don’t be angry.”

“I’m not!” Chris gritted his teeth and side hugged him. “Not at you.”

They watched the entrance, where a handful of women trickled in and out, holding bright pink shopping bags. Tom stared longingly at them. Inside, chic mirror designs adorned the walls, soft pink lighting cast a romantic glow over the displays. Employees dressed all in black bustled around the store, folding and arranging the displays, and handing out mesh shopping bags.

“Okay,” Chris said, hunkering conspiratorially in Tom’s ear. “I’ll go in there and pretend I’m buying something for my girlfriend. I’ll take pictures and bring them out for you to see.”

“Or, or” Tom said. “ _I_ can go in there, _feel_ them and take pics for you to see.”

Chris considered this, and then straightened. Voice high, he said, “Hi there, can I help you with anything? All bras are on sale and there’s a buy two, get one free for all panties. What about fragrances? Would you like a bag?”

Tom gulped, realizing what Chris was doing. He blushed, and Chris’s face softened. He pulled Tom into a hug, gobbling up his cheeks in kisses.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just wanted you to be prepared for what these places are like.” He remembered with disgust the woman at the department store back in December when he’d bought Tom’s nail polishes. “They’re going to bombard you with questions and what are you going to say?”

Tom sniffed. “That it’s none of their business.”

Chris tucked a finger under Tom’s chin. “Please. You are too nice for that.”

He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “But I want to feel them. And see which colors they have,” he said softly.

“Then let’s go. You and me. You walk in first and I’ll follow. Like we don’t know each other.”

Tom nodded, gathering his courage. “Okay.”

A waft of some flowery perfume hit him in the face as soon as he walked in. It was a pleasant scent, and he wondered briefly if he had time to try some. Almost immediately, a saleswoman approached, a perky smile lighting up her face. She held out a black mesh bag. “For your convenience,” she said brightly. “I’m Amanda. Let me know if you need any help.” Her eyes brightened and she reached into her frock. “I have some free samples. Some of our more popular scents. Some eye shadows and lip stains.” She dumped a handful of packets into his bag and he smiled, thanking her. She rushed away to another customer. He walked the perimeter of the store, where every inch of wall space was taken up by hundreds of fragrance bottles. The center of the store was taken up by makeup counters, rouges and lipsticks and mascara and eye shadows and foundations. His gaze lingered on the mascara, extremely intrigued to see they had a clear color. He grabbed a tube and dropped it in his bag. A circular tub held different flavored lip glosses, and his eyes lit up, bending over to read their names, Lollipop and Sugar Waltz and Strawberry Fantasy. He took a pink one, lightly glittered, and tossed it in with the mascara. He rounded a corner, overwhelmed by all the choices in bras and garters and bikinis and night wear. He found the panties in the “Pink” section, lined out neatly in rows on a large flat display. Drawers beneath held the panties in an array of extra sizes.

From across the room, he heard Amanda greet someone and Tom looked up in time to see Chris waving off her offered mesh bag, smiling his thanks. But when she offered him samples, Chris hesitated before accepting them, stuffing the small packets into his pocket. Tom grinned and returned to his choices. The sign above the display announced a sale for buy six and get the seventh free.

_Seven_ , he thought excitedly. There were hiphuggers, briefs, thongs and something called cheekies, which he immediately favored over the others. It looked like they would sit low on his hips, but lifted high in the back, accentuating his cheeks nicely. He chewed on his thumb, debating.

“Can I help you with anything?”

Tom startled, and turned to see another associate, not Amanda, waiting for his answer.

“Um…”

But then Chris appeared out of nowhere. “Excuse me,” he said. The girl looked up, eyes widening at his height. “My girlfriend has really…” Chris cupped his hands out in front of his chest, dramatically so. “Do you have anything for that?”

"Of course! This way.” She hurried off and Chris turned to Tom fast. “Take this in case I’m not back before you’re ready.” He pushed some bills into Tom’s hand. He leaned close. “You’ll look amazing in any of these.” And then he was gone, following the girl into the next room.

Tom looked at the money in his hand and then around the room, blushing red. He quickly pocketed the bills and started digging through the ones labeled ‘cheekies’. He chose seven quickly: white satin with light blue stripes, light pink lace with red stitched hearts, yellow cotton with purple daisies, purple lace with light purple polka dots, bright pink lace, black satin, and his favorite, white lace with pink bows that laced at the hips. They could be undone with a simple tug. He got them all in medium, figuring he would need the extra wiggle room.

As he walked toward the back registers, he saw something that made his jaw drop. The mannequin on the top shelf displayed them so beautifully, sleek and wrapped in satin at the top. He gulped, wondering what they would look like on him, if his muscles would distort them too much, lacking all the soft surface of a woman’s body. But he didn’t want a woman’s body. He did, however, want a pair of those, and he quickly searched the dangling packages for a large.

Giddy and happy with his selections, he waited in line for the next cash register to open. As he was called up, he was surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall across the room, watching him. He must have ditched the poor saleswoman somehow, arms crossed and unburdened by any extremely large bras.

Tom did his best to ignore him and handed his bag to the woman behind the counter. She followed his gaze to where Chris stood and then glanced back at him, smiling. She scanned his items, plugging in some coupon codes for him from a stack by her computer. Glancing over at Chris again, she leaned close to Tom and whispered, smiling, “If I may ask, are these for you?”

Tom’s face flamed hot. But he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered, hoping she wouldn’t refuse his money and kick him out of the store.

Her face lit up in a secret grin, and she peeked at Chris again, who was looking at them with narrowed eyes. “He’s cute,” she whispered, rolling up his panties in pink gift paper, depositing the lip gloss and mascara in the bag after.

“Thank you,” he said softly, feeling like he was about to float away. He quickly came to his senses. “I’m so sorry, but can this last item and the white and pink panties be packaged separately?”

“Sure!” She adjusted her wrapping and put the last bundle in a smaller bag. Without his telling her, she included some more samples and his receipt into the bigger bag and handed them to him. “Have fun,” she said with a wink. “Come back soon.”

He stuttered his thanks and fled, Chris hurrying after him. They found a deserted corner of the mall, where an orthopedic foot store and a magnet gift shop kept most of the shoppers away, and collapsed against the wall, laughing to tears.

“Holy shit,” Chris gasped. “I had to tell that lady that I changed my mind because I forgot my girlfriend’s bra size.”

Tom clutched his stomach. “That cashier asked if these were for me!” He held his bags up.

Chris’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. All of our spy work gone to waste. What did you say!”

Tom wiped his eyes. “I said they were. And then she said you were cute.”

“Fuck,” Chris sighed, leaning back. “We are so transparent.”

"I don’t care,” Tom said. “I love what you bought me. Thank you, my darling.”

“Let me see, let me see!” Chris said, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“In the car!”

They exited the mall and hurried to where Chris parked. Starting the ignition and blasting the air conditioning, Chris turned in his seat and smiled expectantly. “Well?”

“First of all,” Tom said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s your change.” He handed it to Chris and then tried to remove the first bag without his noticing.

“What’s in there?”

Tom snatched the bag out of his reach. “It’s a surprise. For later.”

“For me?” Chris’s smile couldn’t be any bigger.

“Yes you, puppy.”

“Okay, I’ll be good. But show me the rest.”

Chris’s lips parted a little more with every panty Tom pulled out. He took each in his hands, feeling the soft material, his blunt nails catching in the colorful designs. He brought one to his nose and moaned. “I can’t wait until they smell like you. I’m going to keep one in my pocket.”

Tom laughed and grabbed it back. “You pervert!”

“I’m serious! You think I’m kidding.”

Lastly, he pulled out the mascara and lip gloss.

“You got another one,” Chris said, awed. He uncapped the tube and smelled it, humming his approval. “And the mascara?”

Tom shrugged. “I wanted to try it. And it’s clear, so it won’t be as obvious I’m wearing it. I haven’t seen any clear ones at the drug stores,” he finished quietly.

Chris cupped his cheek, ducking his head to catch Tom’s eyes. “Let’s go home and get this on you. Okay?”

Tom nodded and buckled himself in. Safely locked in Chris's upstairs bathroom, both his parents gone to work, Tom stood in front of the sink with the pink bags on the counter before him. He really wanted to try on the surprise he’d gotten for Chris, but he preferred to save it for a birthday present in August. He would need to find a place to hide it in the meantime. Setting that bag aside, he took out the other panties and quickly rid himself of his clothes. He stood naked before the mirror, touching his belly softly. Bruises showed where Chris had laid claim to him, and they glowed dark and fading, depending on when Chris had kissed them deep. He took the first pair—the bright pink lace—and slipped them on. Medium was the right choice. His bum poked out adorably from the back v-shape of the panties, but the front is what caught him most by surprise. His cock, beginning to stir, was outlined almost obscenely, curved upward to his right hip, his balls tucked snug between his legs. He spun slowly, heart racing at the sight of the lace on his skin. They felt, and looked, just as he'd imagined, in his most secret thoughts, alone and wondering.

Feeling somewhat self-conscious, he opened the bathroom door and peeked down the hall, even though no one was home. At the bedroom door, Tom hovered before entering, suddenly doubting himself. He was in panties, for heaven's sake! This was stupid, they didn't fit him, he should just—.

"Babe?"

He heard the bed creak and knew Chris had sat up.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, just out of sight.

"My spidey senses were tingling." When Tom said nothing, Chris spoke up again, voice soft. "Don't be afraid, baby. Or embarrassed. I want to see you. Please come in."

Before he lost more of his nerve, Tom steeled himself and then stepped into view. Face red, he could see Chris out of the corner of his eye, standing slowly from the bed. But Tom kept his eyes down, fingers twisting in a knot.

And then Chris was before him, hands rising--shaking, Tom noticed--to touch his waist.

"Baby," he heard, and he looked up, finally. Chris was gaping at him, lips parted, a hot flush on his cheeks. But the look could not have been more reverent, not even if Tom had been made of stone and mounted on some altar to be worshipped by the ever faithful. Chris adored him. There was no question.

Chris swallowed, struggling for words. "Tom," he said, voice hoarse. "Tom, you're—."

Tom shook his head, opening his mouth to insist it was a bad idea, it hadn't been as he thought, even though it was, they shouldn't have—.

"—beautiful."

Tom's head snapped up.

"You are," Chris said, running his hands down Tom's waist, fingertips skimming the lace. "So beautiful, Tom. I'm amazed at you. That you're here. That you're mine. Look at you."

And Tom did, bowing his head, all pink lace and impressive bulge, the panties barely holding him in. Hands skimmed over his hips and around to his bottom, supple and round in the lace, cupping him, kneading him, dragging him closer. Tom whimpered when their chests bumped, Chris fully clothed, Tom definitely not. It made him hot, made his skin tingle, hands trembling as he lifted them to grasp Chris's shoulders.

"I want to fuck you in each of these," Chris rasped. "And I will." A large hand came forward to cup him and Tom bucked, gasping, into his palm. The lace made everything so much more sensitive, like butterfly wings dancing over his skin, tickling. The heat of Chris's hand made him harden fully. "Fuck," Chris breathed, before forcing himself to take a step back, hands clenched. "I want to see the rest. And then pick your favorite and come back to me."

Tom nodded and spun, but not fast enough. Chris's hand landed on his ass, and he yelped, turning back with a smile.

"Hurry!"

Grinning now, Tom changed into the second pair, the third, the fourth, until he'd tried all six on, Chris having to physically restrain himself from tossing Tom on the bed before he escaped again. By the last pair, Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, visibly hard, his hands planted under his ass to make them behave.

"Perfect, perfect," he kept whispering, and Tom was so emboldened by the end of his little fashion show, that when he returned again with the original pink lace panties, he went straight to the bed and climbed into Chris's lap. Chris moaned and finally let loose his hands, bringing them up to grip at Tom's waist, wrapping down to squeeze his bottom.

"These are my favorite, too," he said, pupils blows, nails digging into Tom's soft flesh. "I need to be careful. Don't want to ruin them."

"Don't you dare rip them, Christopher," Tom gasped, arching back as Chris mouthed at his neck. “At least…not so soon.” He moved to straddle him and pushed down with his hips, rubbing their crotches together.

"Oh fuck no," Chris moaned, standing with Tom still in his arms. Tom squeaked and tightened his arms. But he was on his back soon enough, Chris crawling between his knees, laying down flat over him.

"This," he said, skimming his fingers over the lace. “Is going to be my undoing, babe.”

Beaming, Tom lifted his legs and wrapped them around Chris’s waist, and they rubbed themselves together, the rough seam of Chris’s jeans against the delicate weave of the lace panties. They were hard and Tom could feel the strain of the lace holding him in, could feel the beading of precome, webbing against the fabric. Chris’s mouth was soft over his, his lips warm, tongue wet and dancing over his.

Tom whined as Chris’s lips slid down his jaw. He bit along his collarbone, and Tom cried out softly, quieting only when Chris gripped his jaw tighter.

And then Chris broke away, trailing kisses over his neck, sucking at his nipples, nibbling them gently. Tom cried out, wrists straining on the sheets, Chris’s big hands clamping them down. Further down he went, licking at his belly button. Tom jumped and Chris latched on to the thin meat of his waist, growling softly. Panting, dizzy with want, Tom held still until Chris let him go, nosing along to the top edge of the panties. He stopped there, staring at Tom’s cock, engorged and red and leaking. Keeping his hold on Tom’s wrists, Chris opened his mouth and started sucking his cock through the sheer lace.

Tom moaned, broken and deep, lifting his head to watch Chris tease at him. His whines made Chris flick his eyes up at him, and they were big and dark, those eyes, fluttering closed again, his tongue pushing against the lace, lips closed over the head. Sliding lower, he trailed his tongue along the shaft until latching onto his balls, heavy and full, sucking them through material.

Tom’s head fell back, eyes scrunched tight. “Darling, I can’t! Please. I can’t.”

Chris released him, lips wet and swollen, and kissed the inside of his thigh lovingly. And then he stood and moved away to rummage under the bed. Tom followed him with his eyes, glazed and heavy-lidded. Chris returned with their bottle of lube, uncapping it and wetting his fingers. Without a word, he pulled Tom’s panties to the side, and nudged at his entrance. Tom widened his legs and held his cheeks apart.      

Chris almost came at the sight. “My puppy. So eager for me, huh?”

Tom nodded, licking his lips, driven half mad from the strain of lace on his cock.

“I’m going to fuck you good and deep, baby,” Chris promised, sliding in a finger, pumping slowly, and then squeezing in a second. He alternated between finger fucking him and licking at his hole, his blond head disappearing between Tom's legs every few moments. It was all too much, the sensations ricocheting off his nerve endings, a daring light show in his brain, eyes blinded with sparks. Tongue, finger, teeth, Tom mewled and arched, flushed with heat, pulse beating frantic, he was going to come, he was going to come—.

But then Chris removed his fingers and licked his lips, looking just as wrecked as Tom felt. He stood and tore off his shirt, pulling off his jeans in a huff, rubbing lube on his thick cock, bobbing before him.

Through fluttery blinks, Tom watched him, rising on his elbows.

"Hands and knees," Chris whispered and Tom scrambled to turn over. Chris took his hips and dragged him to the edge of the bed. It was quiet for a few moments, and Tom chanced a nervous look over his shoulder. Chris was staring at him, at his thighs, the tight curve of his buttocks, a look both hungry and awed settled heavily on his features. And then he lifted his hand and brought it down on Tom’s ass, making him jump.

“Easy,” Chris murmured, soothing the skin. He spanked him again, moving from one cheek to the other. Tom dropped his head, moaning, watching the bulge in his panties threaten to spill out.

Stopping suddenly, Chris pulled aside the panties, careful, so careful, fixing the head of his cock to Tom's entrance, pushing in. Inch by slow inch, he speared Tom, the width stretching him, deep until he bottomed out, pelvis flush with Tom's pink-laced bottom. Drawing back halfway, he dug his fingers into Tom's hipbones and slammed in, hard. Tom cried out, neck bouncing. Bunching one side of the panties in his curled palm, Chris pounded in, hauling Tom in as he thrust down.

"I'm not....going...to...fucking last," Chris growled, eyes sharp on the heart shape of Tom's bottom, bouncing under his onslaught.

"I'm close, too," Tom wheezed.

"You're going to come in those panties, babe? Gonna come for me? Soak them up?"

"Fuck," Tom whispered, because he was. Without a touch, with only Chris just barely brushing his prostate and that filthy voice, Tom came loudly, shouting into the sheets, releasing into the brand new panties, flooding them, drenching them so that drips of his come seeped through the lace and puddled on the mattress.

He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, but he could feel Chris’s grip harden, bruising him, as he thrust twice more and trembled through his orgasm, overflowing Tom, pouring out of him, collapsing to his hands, chest to back, Tom grunting as he took his weight on shaking arms.

Both breathed hard, still reeling.

Chris pressed a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”

Tom nodded.

“Hold still.” Chris braced himself and slid out, cupping his hand over Tom’s abused hole.

Tom lay down on his side, groaning from the aches he started to feel. Chris gently tugged the panties down his legs.

“We need to wash these like ASAP.”

His face was so concerned, brows pulled low as he held the panties hooked on one finger, that Tom couldn’t help the laughter that poured out of him. He covered his face and chuckled, because of course they needed to. They would ruin and they’d only had them for an hour.

Chris smacked his bottom again, lightly, and leaned down to kiss him.

“I love you.”

Tom giggled again. “I love you. Now go wash them. This is all your fault.”

Chris grinned. “Gladly.”

Tom curled up on his side as Chris collected other things to wash, and dozed, thinking this was the most content he’d ever been in his life.

**

“What’s this” Chris asked the next morning. He held Elisabeth’s letter in one hand.

“Oh,” Tom said, pushing up his shades. He’d been reading on one of the lawn chairs when Chris joined him a moment ago. “I got that in the mail the other day. I haven’t felt like opening it.”

Chris plopped down beside him. “What do you think it is?”

Tom shrugged, still not wanting to know. He stuck a finger in his book. “You can open it, if you want,” he said after a moment.

Chris tore the edge off and pulled out the short hand written note. He read quietly and then his face hardened. He sat up suddenly.

“What is it?” Tom asked, putting his book aside.

“Read it,” Chris said, handing him the paper.

Tom took it. It was from Elisabeth, written on her personal stationary.

_Tom,_ the letter started. _I’m writing to inform you of something I think you should know. Yesterday I received word from the penitentiary where Mr. Shaw was imprisoned. Mr. Shaw was killed, murdered by a group of fellow inmates. In all honesty, I had a feeling this might happen. Mr. Shaw was a child abuser and such things relating to children do not sit well with most prisoners. For his safety, Mr. Shaw was kept in solitary confinement for a short amount of time, but upon being released into the general population, he was killed. I tell you this so that you may rest easy knowing that there will be absolutely no chance that one day Mr. Shaw might be released and begin preying on you, or other boys ever again._

_I trust you are well. You_ _’ll be starting college soon, and I wish you all the best! Take care, and please let me know how you’re doing from time to time. There will always be an open door for you in this office._

_Sincerely,_

_Elisabeth_ __  
  


Tom looked up, feeling strangely unbothered. Where he expected to feel an ache at the death of another person, he felt a simple calm. Chris studied him. He took the paper after a moment and folded it into neat rectangles. And then they lay back on the lawn chairs, fingers laced between them, and put their shades back on, the noisy cicadas a distant and familiar comfort.

**

Before they started their new jobs, Chris, Tom, and their parents planned a visit to their college. The tour would start at ten in the morning, but because it was a six hour trip they would need to drive in the night before. Packing small overnight bags, everyone piled into the Hemsworths’ SUV and started the journey north. Chris and Tom lounged in the backseat, with James and Diana sitting in the middle and Craig and Leonie up front. While their parents talked amongst themselves, Tom read the book he’d brought with him. Chris listened to music and played a game on his phone, his foot hooked over Tom’s ankle. He eventually found his way into their stash of snacks and started munching on some gummy bears, tossing one at Tom. It landed on his cheek and fell into his book. Chris was staring innocently out the window when Tom turned to glare at him.

Risking a glance at their parents and finding them distracted enough, Tom tapped Chris’s shoulder and then pulled down the top of his jeans. There, bright against his pale skin, was a peek of bright pink lace.

Chris’s eyes widened comically, and Tom grinned before covering up again and returning to his book. He could feel the huge mass of quiet heat and crackling energy that was Chris beside him, but he wouldn’t dare touch Tom in the car with both their parents present, and Tom sat basking in the glory that was this power.

His phone beeped in his pocket and he pulled it out. It was a message from Chris.

< _You are cruel to me_ >

Tom laughed into his hand and replied.

< _What are you talking about? I’m just sitting here. >_

_< You’re the meanest meanie ever and I’m mad now_>

Tom chuckled and looked over at Chris, who was practically sulking against the window, as far from Tom as possible. He waited until Chris glanced at him to blow him a kiss, and Chris crossed his arms with a huff.

Highly amused, Tom began reading again when his phone beeped.

< _Just you wait_ >.

Chris was staring out the window, determinedly ignoring him, but Tom felt a thrill zip up his spine at what Chris would do to him later. But much, much later. They were rooming with their parents for the weekend, and would have no opportunity to have sex. But perhaps the wait would only make the outcome that much sweeter.

Chris, apparently, didn’t think so, hauling both their bags up the front steps of the hotel—beautifully tiled and decorated with giant potted green-leafed plants, tinkling water fountains and a dimly lit restaurant just off the main lobby—and into the elevator, where he backed Tom into a corner to make room for their parents and their bags. The ride up was punctuated by their parents’ chatter, but Tom only stared at the back of Chris’s neck, at the quickly knotted bun, the swirl of fine blond hairs at the nape. Chris’s thin shirt exposed the sharp long line of his shoulder muscles, pulled tight from the weight of their bags, and Tom couldn’t help it when he slid a hand along the curve of Chris’s waist, pressing his forehead to his shoulder, kissing the warm skin softly.

Chris stiffened, and the back of his neck turned a lovely shade of pink, but then he relaxed against Tom, and Tom held him as the elevator rose to the sixth floor, hugging him from behind, relaxed and happy. Their rooms were spacious and elegantly designed in soft whites and beiges and browns. According to the concierge, their private balconies afforded them a view of the white-topped mountains to the west, and the distant shoreline of the ocean to the east, but it was dark out and they could only see the dotted constellations of lights glowing over the city.

After changing for dinner, Tom retreated to the balcony to wait for his parents. He leaned against the railing, staring into the night sky, imagining he could hear the surf, but that would be impossible at this distance. And then from the other balcony came a voice.

“Baby,” he heard whispered, and Tom turned. Chris stood there in jeans and a nice blue button-down shirt.

“Baby,” Tom replied, and Chris smiled. His gaze dropped to Tom’s waist. Taking the hint, Tom lifted the shirt he was wearing and gave Chris another glimpse of the lace underneath. Chris visibly swallowed, hands gripping the railing of his balcony, knuckles white. His eyes fluttered closed and he clenched his jaw, breathing out slowly through his nose.

Tom grinned, leaning on an elbow and watching Chris try to control himself. But he wasn’t unaffected either. There had been a coiling of arousal deep in his belly the entire trip and it would only get worse before they made it back home. Still, Chris seemed to be having a worse time of it, and Tom couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill it gave him.

He’d packed only a couple of the panties to wear, realizing he and Chris would have very little chance to be alone together, but he liked the idea of knowing, and of _Chris_ knowing, what he wore beneath his clothes.

Chris was staring him down and Tom began to fidget where he stood. Chris’s lips curled into a smile, knowing.

Dinner was tense, at best. At least between him and Chris. Their parents seemed to be having a great time, laughing over shared stories about work and their own times in college. The food was delicious. He and Chris picked bites off each other’s plates, mixing up their sodas, drinking from both. They shared a slice of cheesecake, and Tom moaned at the flavor, noting Chris’s eyes cut sharply to him, their thighs pressing tighter together.

Afterward, their parents decided to walk along the pier, where an outdoor cluster of vendor’s shops lined the boardwalk, the artsy kind selling trinkets and bushels of vegetables and dried fruit and miscellaneous souvenirs. The place was littered with people perusing the aisles and listening to live musical performances. Chris and Tom walked ahead of them, hugging at the waist, and hung back by the edge of the water. Salty air brushed their faces and Tom leaned against Chris’s side, hands clasped loosely.

“It’s beautiful here,” Tom whispered.

“Have you ever thought about surfing?”

Tom lifted his head. “In general?”

Chris laughed. “Sure. I mean, do you think I’d be any good at it?”

Tom hummed. “Definitely. My Poseidon. But let’s get used to our coursework and the lay of the place first, okay?” He kissed Chris’s cheek. “And then we’ll think about playing.”

“Okay,” Chris agreed, with a small sigh. “But I want to play with you now.” He nuzzled Tom’s neck and Tom squirmed away.

“We can’t! Not until we get home.”

“I’ll find a place,” Chris murmured. “Knowing what I know about what you’re wearing, I’ll find a fucking place.”

“Was that a pun?” Tom said, grinning.

“Whatever. Yes. It totally was.”

Tom laughed and dragged him away from the water to find their parents.

**

_< I can’t sleep>_

_< I can’t either. The bed feels so big>_

_< I’m cold without you>_

_< I wish I could sneak in and wrap myself around you>_

_< Like before, love>_

_< like before, babe>_

**

Their tour group consisted of three other families with daughters, all of whom stared after Chris with a gleam in their eyes. Chris finally got tired of it and threw an arm around Tom’s shoulder and kissed him behind his ear. All three girls dropped their gazes and returned their attention to the guide, who was walking backward, detailing the main sites on campus, the history of the institution, and facts about student life and academic achievements.

Tom was hardly able to concentrate with Chris leaning close every few minutes and whispering filthy promises to him. Not only was he sleepy from getting next to no sleep the night before, but they’d done so much walking that day and the heat was starting to make him feel a bit ill. Hoping his red face would be excused by the bright sunshine, Tom kept quiet and followed the group, even as Chris shadowed him, teasing.

The guide stopped before an ancient and severe looking building with white columns and a wrap around wooden porch. “The first structure ever built on campus, Main Hall was the home to the first seven students. They had their own dormitories and attended classes in this building, as well as…”

“I want to fuck you,” Chris whispered, kissing Tom’s temple gently. Tom gulped and peered at the guide, feigning deep interest.

“The university was founded with the help of a wealthy patron named…”

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

The group began shuffling to the next stop on the tour. Their parents pointed at certain landmarks, running their fingers down their tour books, comparing notes.

“On all fours,” Tom replied, just as quiet. Chris’s arm tightened around his neck.

“Chris!” Craig called back. “Take a look at this!”

Chris pulled Tom back to the group and they fell into step with their parents, eyeing each other over their heads.

**

They were shown the building where they would be rooming together—“There was an extra fee to be able to choose your own roommate, but James and I got it covered,” Craig assured Chris—and they stopped by the bookstore to pick up school supplies and their textbooks. Exhausted by the end of the day, they stopped for a quick dinner at a local diner and then retired to their rooms.           

The floor by their beds was littered with bags full of things for the start of term in late August. Tom already felt lazy about fitting it all into the SUV in the morning.

Chris found Tom on his balcony.

“Are you okay, babe? You look a little green.”

Tom shrugged. “Eating helped. I think the sun got to me.”

Chris cupped his face, studying him. “Good thing we wore sunscreen.” He cupped Tom’s ass. “How’s my bum today?”

Tom cuddled close and sighed. “Missing you.” He’d worn the purple panties that day and enjoyed the look of pure devastation on Chris’s face. “But this is all so exciting, isn’t it? Our room is on the ground floor facing the quiet side of the library. I doubt we’ll be disturbed very much. Our schedules aren’t too different. We can join clubs and go to sports games.”

“And sleep in on weekends and sleep in the same bed.”

Tom chuckled. “You act like we don’t do that now.”

“I’m still traumatized from last night. It was terrible. I had to hug a pillow.”

“And we have to do it again tonight.”

Chris shuddered and pulled Tom against him, as if trying to ward off some evil spirit.

“But I’m excited too,” he said after a moment. “I can’t wait to do this with you. Graduate together. All over again.”

Tom hummed and lifted his face, grazing Chris’s chin with his nose.

“All over again, my love.”

In the far distance in the center of the city, they could see the red-tiled roofs of the university, their soon-to-be home.

**

“Hush, now.”

"But, Chris—“

“Hold still, baby.”

"Yes…darling, right there. Please, please…”

“Yeah, take it. Don’t touch yourself. Gonna make you come.”

Tom held himself off Chris’s bed, arms shaking, body bouncing from Chris behind him. Chris had his black panties pulled high on Tom’s lower back, stretched to the side just enough for him to enter Tom. Fingers wrapped tight in the delicate material, he gripped Tom’s hips and hammered into him, Tom’s cock trapped in the smooth satin, hard and ready to burst. And then Chris lifted him up just a bit and thrust in hard and Tom screamed, legs buckling. He soaked through the panties, pulsating warmly, half coherent as Chris held him up by the waist, murmuring to him.

He pulled out and lay Tom down on his back, opening his legs and sinking back in. Tom whimpered, accepting his rough kisses, resuming his quick pace. Curling a hand in Tom’s hair, Chris bit down on his neck and groaned, spilling finally. He held himself flush against Tom, thrusting gently, cheeks pressed together. He sighed, his stubble rubbing Tom’s freshly shaven face.

“We have to go get more,” Chris said quietly, and Tom made a noise in question.

“More panties,” Chris explained, looking so worried. “All the panties. We need to get them.”

Tom covered his face and laughed, because yes they would definitely need to.

**

The summer went by quickly. They went to work five days a week and came home tired, but happy, their tiny bundle of money growing a bit more each week. They didn’t have to worry about homework until the fall, and spent their free time lounging by the pool or hanging out with Jason and Julie, and Jamie and Danny.

Before he knew it, it was August and Chris’s birthday was only a few days away. Tom had managed to hide away his small Victoria’s Secret bag where Chris hadn’t been able to find it, and now he began to slowly plan for surprising Chris with its contents.

The first thing he did was groom himself. While Chris was busy with physical therapy, his very last appointment he'd taken to reminding Tom, Tom remained alone in the empty house. He cleaned Chris's room, putting shoes away under the bed, dusting down the flat surfaces, wiping the TV, and changing the sheets. Next he shaved his face, making it smooth and soft. Taking the pair of scissors he found in a drawer, he then he hunkered down on the lid of the toilet and spread his legs. Very carefully, he snipped his pubic hair around the edges, trimming around his sack and at the base of his cock. Not a lot, just enough to look cleaner when he finally put on the white panties. Dusting away the excess hair into the toilet, he flushed and then started up the shower. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, running Chris's body wash over his limbs, trailing his fingers over his shorn hair, his balls feeling so much softer and full. Back in Chris's room, he poured out the sample packets of scented lotion that had come with his purchase at the beginning of summer. He rubbed some over his legs and arms and belly, paying extra care to his neck and the apex of his thighs. He dabbed some of Chris’s cologne behind his ears and beneath his belly button. He'd worn the mascara a few times over the summer, afraid to use it all, but he was generous with his strokes this time, letting the clear coats curl his lashes high, fanning wide and long. He batted his eyes in the mirror and smiled. He painted his nails pink and blew on them to dry them faster.

The clock on the desk read half past one. Chris would be back at two. Hurrying, Tom took the six pairs of panties he'd worn over the last couple of months and went downstairs. He hung one from the bannister at the bottom of the stairs directly in front of the front door, leaving another over the middle steps, and dropping the remaining pairs on the floor in a trail that led to Chris's bedroom. He knew Chris's parents wouldn't be back until very late, so Tom wasn't worried that they would be interrupted or discovered mid-fuck.

Tom took a deep breath and then emptied the small bag, laying out the surprises on the bed. First were the white panties with the pink bows that tied at the hips. He cut open the wrapper for the second item, a pair of long, creamy pink stockings. Lined with satin at the top, where they cut off mid-thigh, the stockings were soft and filmy. They weren’t as sheer as he originally believed, but he thought they looked beautiful, especially with the large bows presented perkily at the back of each stocking. Licking his lips, he gathered each one up in his hand, the way he saw women do in movies, and slowly rolled them up his legs, until they pressed snug and comfortable between his thighs. Next was the garter belt, a white lace piece of fabric that clung to his hips and hung over the panties he wore, slightly elastic to stick to his form. Lastly, he clipped the snaps from garter belt to the top of the stockings. He stood in front of the mirror and admired himself, turning in a slow circle, adoring the round bubble of his ass sticking out from beneath belt and panty, the pink bows just beneath his buttocks. Loving it so much, he took a picture of himself with his phone and filed it away to look at later. His heart was beating so fast, his excitement like a hum in his ears.

But he didn’t want Chris to see him like this right away. It would give away the surprise too quickly. He dressed in regular jeans and a button down white shirt, pulling some socks over his stockinged feet. He rummaged around in the drawer by their bed and uncapped his new lip gloss, sliding a shiny layer over his lips. And then he waited, laying down on the bed, moving his legs to feel the skimming pull of the stockings, the panties hugging his cock so snugly.

After only a few minutes, he heard a car door slam outside the window and he resisted the urge to sit up, heart racing. The front door opened downstairs and then took a moment longer than usual to close. Chris must have discovered the first pair of panties. Tom imagined him, gathering each one along the trail until finally, appearing at the doorway, which he did, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Baby,” he whispered, staring at Tom leaning up on his elbows, around the clean room, sniffing the traces of perfume in the air. “What is this?” He had all the pairs of panties clutched in one hand.

“Come here,” Tom said, beckoning Chris with his head.

Looking a little wary, Chris crossed into the room, eyes darting everywhere, always falling back to where Tom lay. When he was close enough, Tom rose and made room for him to sit, standing at the last second, startling Chris.

"What are you...oh my god, your lashes."

"Shh," Tom said, bringing a finger to Chris's lips. He stood before him, Chris looking up at him, licking his lips nervously. "Just relax, my darling. Okay?"

Chris shifted, sitting further back on the bed. "Okay," he whispered, eyes wide. Tom's heart warmed. His puppy was on edge over this surprising turn of events.

He started unbuttoning his shirt, fingers lingering at the top. "How was therapy?"

Chris's eyes followed his hands and he blinked, clearly trying to focus. "Fine." He cleared his throat. "It was fine. Doctor says I can continue the exercises at home. That my wrist is nearly at the same strength as before the break. To...to call him if I have any questions."

"Hmm," Tom hummed, nodding. His fingers moved further down, one button at a time. "That's so good, love. I'm happy for you. You're going to try out in October and you're going to be fabulous, aren't you?"

He bent slightly, searching for Chris's gaze, but Chris was stuck staring at his hands, slowly exposing more and more of his bare chest. "Are you alright, Chris?" Blue eyes snapped to his, narrowing.

"Babe, please tell me what's going on."

Tom opened his shirt and let it fall off his shoulders. He stayed quiet, not trusting his voice just before revealing his surprise.

"Babe?" Chris said less certainly, reaching a hand out to touch Tom's leg. Tom lightly smacked his hand away and Chris jumped, as if scalded.

"Not yet, my heart." Tom popped open the top button of his jeans, eyes wide on Chris, face flushed pink. "Not just...yet."

He pulled down the zipper, but Chris had already caught sight of the top edge of the panties. He gasped and started to rise, but Tom pressed him back down to the bed.

"Patience. Only a little bit more."

Chris gulped, but sat back obediently, hand reaching out again, Tom smacking it away again.

He breathed in. This was it. Taking two steps back, Tom turned around and faced away from Chris, and then slowly lowered his jeans, bending at the waist, letting first the garter belt and the straps and then the top of the stockings fall into view.

He heard Chris's sharp intake of breath and bit his lip, smiling shyly. Kicking away the jeans and toeing off his socks, he straightened and paused for a moment, letting Chris drink in his fill. And then he turned.

Chris was braced on the edge of the bed, hands clawed into the sheets, but body held forward, as if preventing himself from charging toward him. Chest rising and falling, he was panting through his mouth. Tom could not have felt more beautiful than he did in that moment.

"Happy birthday," he said softly, wringing his hands before him.

Chris let his eyes fall closed, appearing to be fighting some great internal battle.

"Can I touch you now?" he asked, voice so deep, Tom almost didn't hear him.

"Yes," Tom breathed and Chris exhaled, standing in one quick motion.

Tom gasped and took a step back, but Chris was already in front of him, bending his head, kissing him on the mouth, tongue seeking, big hands circling his waist.

He broke away and looked Tom up and down. "This was in the bag? You little sneak."

Tom grinned. "Do you like it?"

Chris's gaze softened. "I love it. You're so beautiful." They kissed again, all slick heat and moans. Hands roamed over his back, curving down to cup his bottom. "You smell amazing. Skin so soft. And your lashes, Jesus Chris, babe. They're so long!"

Tom batted them playfully and Chris groaned. "I'm fucked. I'm so fucked, I'm going to come in like twelve seconds."

Tom laughed and pulled him to the bed. "You're not allowed unless it's inside me. Promise." He lay back and Chris yanked his shirt off, shrugging out of his shoes. "I promise, babe." Naked in a flash, he draped himself over Tom, who lounged back with his arms up, smiling up at him. Sunlight filtered in through the window, warming his stomach, sending glitter sparks over his white lace underthings.

Chris started with more sweet kisses, making his lips good and swollen, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. He bit along his collarbone, leaving a chain of faint bruises for only Tom to see. He groaned.

 "You're wearing my cologne...goddamn, babe."

Tom basked in Chris's every word, feeling as aglow as the sunlight shining over their bodies.

When Chris reached the garter belt, he traced the lace with his fingers, moving over the curve of Tom's cock.

"I'm going to burst," Tom whined.

Chris huffed out a laugh. "You? More like me."

"Then just make love to me. I want you inside now."

"I want to figure this out first," he murmured, studying the clasps. "Do they just..." He unclipped one and it sprang away, loosening from its grip at the top of his stockings. He shot Tom a proud, surprised look. "Oh, I like that a lot." He did the same to the other side, clenching his teeth at the recoil in the straps.

"They're attached in the back, too," Tom said.

Chris took his hips and flipped him to the side, Tom laughing at his determination. Those clasps were gone in a second and then Chris flipped him back, tugging on the garter belt.

"These legging things are staying on. With the bows? Fuck my life."

Tom laughed as Chris lifted his legs to remove the belt entirely. He laid it gently to the side.

Looking Tom over again, he seemed to falter for a second, sagging to hunch over him, arms trembling.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered. "Nothing can ever compare. We started this as strangers...faking at something that I never knew would be the best part of me. All that I feel is so big, babe. Right here," he said, touching his chest. He gathered Tom into his arms, rocking with him on the bed. "I love you."

Tom sniffed into his shoulder, hugging him tight. "I love you too."

Chris lay him down again and after caressing Tom's crotch for several long moments, he tugged on the bow at Tom’s left hip, watching with mouth parted as the ribbon fell away, letting one side of the panties fall open. Tom thought he heard Chris whimper before he moved to the other ribbon and pulled it open. He slipped the panties off Tom with quiet reverence and then gaped at him.

"You..." he started, falling silent as he ran a hand over Tom's trimmed pubic hair. Tom's cock was pressed to his hip, hot and throbbing.

"Please, Chris," Tom whispered, and Chris leaned over him, kissing him fast. His hands trailed from Tom's wrists down to his underarms, tickling him slightly, moving to his waist and lifting him further on the bed. Tom gasped as Chris maneuvered him, still so surprised at the strength in him.

It was a short time before Tom was prepped and ready, Chris's dripping fingers spreading more lube on himself, eyes hungry on Tom's hole. He lifted Tom's stockinged legs, the bows visible beneath his thighs.

"Rea—," Christ started, but Tom interrupted him with, " _Yes."_

He held Tom's thighs wide and sank in, both groaning at the tight fit. Further, further in and Tom clawed at him, desperate. Buried to the root, Chris held himself there, breathing hard, Tom's chest and neck red. Taking his leg, he ran a hand down his calf, silky smooth, and then felt something wound tight in his chest snap. His hand clenched on Tom's lean thigh and he pulled out to the tip before slamming in hard.

Tom yelped, holding Chris's shoulders as he started fucking him fast. His fingernails shone bright pink in the sunlight, like petals against Chris's tanned skin.

"You're perfect," Chris groaned, holding the side of Tom's head, thumb grazing his throat. "So fucking perfect."

Chris pulled out and sank onto his back, hauling Tom up to straddle him. Eager, Tom rode him, bouncing on his lap, Chris gripping his thighs, fingers caressing the ribbon-lined stockings. Balancing himself on Chris's chest, Tom bucked and circled his hips, the thick shaft spearing him at the same deep angle. But before Tom could come, Chris sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, propping his feet on the floor.

"Come for me, I want to see you," he whispered, sitting up and supporting Tom's lower back, helping him move his hips. And Tom was so close, just a few more thrusts down and he would—he would—.

He sobbed his release, body tightening, jerking in those strong arms. Long strings of come shot up between them, one landing on Chris's mouth. Pupils blown, looking ecstatic at Tom’s orgasm, Chris snaked his tongue and lapped at the come curling over his lip. Tom moaned and almost came again, but his body was wiped clean, maxed out, and he sat curled in Chris’s lap, limp and heavy.

“Fill me up,” he whispered. “I want you to come in me. And then later I want you to come in me again. And later again. I want to be dripping with you. Can you do that, my love? Can you do that for me?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chris groaned and stood fast, walking to the wall and propping Tom against it. Alarmed and still dizzy from his climax, Tom clung to Chris, eyes wide on the floor below them. But there was no way Chris was dropping him. No way.

Anchoring him tight, Chris grunted with every hard thrust, protecting Tom’s back with his own hands. But Tom felt even his teeth vibrate with the force of Chris’s hips, head rocking back, stockings slippery around his waist. And then he came, loud and hard, bruising Tom’s shoulder with a well-timed bite, pushing in again and again, wringing it out until every nerve ending felt fried. His knees weakened and they slid down the wall and to the floor, crumpling, Chris taking the brunt of their weight.

Breaths loud in the room, they trembled, still joined, still pulsing slightly. The sun slanted across their bodies when they finally stirred again, Tom groaning when Chris slid out. He wasn’t hard again yet, but he would be soon, and he would fulfill his promise to come inside him again, and again. And only later that night, would he wash away his seed, pleased with the feel of it.

For now, Chris wanted to cuddle, and Tom happily allowed Chris to lift him to the bed. Stockings slightly rumpled and rolled down to his knees, Tom didn’t have the energy to fix them. When they woke again in a little bit, he would fix himself, tease Chris a bit more. But for now, they drowsed.

“I love sleeping with you,” Chris murmured, already half-unconscious and Tom hummed, knowing that Chris could mean one of two things, or all things at once. He snuggled closer, half thinking about how warm and pliant his limbs felt, their upcoming fall semester away at college, all the new things he and Chris would experience, and he fully intended on experiencing as much as he could, safe and at home, with Chris by his side.

**

_Sometime in the fall…_

Chris pushed his way into their dorm and dropped his bags to the floor. He was achy and exhausted from practice, but would still take a run with Tom before bed that night. He kicked the door closed and wandered into their small kitchen for some water.     

“Babe?” he called, but there was no answer, and he suddenly heard the deep silence of the place, the lack of music or the background noise of the television. Not like they had much time to watch TV these days, but something was always playing somewhere. And when he flicked on the lights in the kitchen, he saw a green coffee cup turned upside down on the counter, a note beside it.

_Darling. I’m next door at the library. Please kill it. Love you. ~T_

Chris smiled, already figuring what had driven Tom into the next building to escape. He made quick work of the spider, and then washed his hands. Grabbing an apple from the fridge, he headed back out again, swinging in the direction of the library to find Tom.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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